


flower child

by tostitos



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Drama & Romance, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Modern Royalty, faux deep, not slow burn as much as it's just...slow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2018-09-03 04:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 67,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8696767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tostitos/pseuds/tostitos
Summary: One is a prince of the Kingdom of Flowers; the other is not. One can charm anyone he comes across; the other struggles to blend in. Both are surrounded by secrets. Both will do anything for the truth to come out.(Alternatively: Minhyuk isn't sure how much more he can take of the neglect when he comes across a boy with petals tangled in his hair and dirt caked on his feet.)





	1. i.i

 

_Is something going on at the House of Petals? Will we finally see the mysterious second Prince of Son?_

A Shiba Inu darts by, a streak of gold hardly noticeable against the glare of the midday sun’s vibrant rays. A bubblegum pink leash flaps behind him. At the end is a small girl with her toddler fingers barely hanging on as she runs after the pup, pigtail puffs bouncing and sandaled feet kicking up dirt clouds. Her laugh is an alarm clock chime, light silver bells clinking.

Keeping pace behind her is a young gentleman with rounded cheeks full of mirth, his arm wrapped comfortably around the slim shoulders of a woman with the same bell laugh. Her left hand rests on the slight swell of stomach showing through her yellow sunflower printed sundress. She calls for the girl to be careful, to not run too fast and trip, _we just bought those pants, little miss_.

The girl, still bubbling alarm clock chimes, whistles a sharp noise and the pup slows before whipping around and running back to her. The pup is nearly her height when it stands on its hind legs, but she doesn’t topple when it jumps at her, balancing with its front paws on her shoulders. She hugs it in that crushing way that kids hold anything soft, like it’ll disappear and take her joy with it if she doesn’t hug it tight enough.

Her father tugs affectionately at one of her puffs when he and the missus catch up. He slips the loop of the leash off his daughter’s wrist and twines it around his own. Empty handed, the girl skips to her mother, holding out wiggling fingers until her hand is taken.

Fiddling with the elastic strap of his black, cotton face mask, Minhyuk watches the family continue their walk of the length of the grass park. A soft smile pulls at his lips, unable to hold a frown in the face of such happiness.

The image takes him back to simpler times, to roaming the gardens during the late spring bloom season and finding himself lost, adrift in the sea of colors. But spring lasts fewer and fewer days with each passing year. He’s been trying to maintain the daisies and irises but the gardens are overrun with weeds, are filled with dandelions masquerading as sunflowers on the cusp of puberty.

His mother says she can’t bear to replant, something about how the floral perfume and the petals are causing the nightmares that keep her up while the moon passes overhead, wandering through the halls like a ghost. And Minhyuk wants nothing more than the woman who used to make up stories of garden sprites when he was a child to be at peace, so he doesn't complain about how foreign it has started to feel as he gets older.

A loud chime fills the air, the clock tower on the edge of the marketplace ringing with the turn of the hour. Minhyuk spares a glance to the plastic, waterproof watch he's had since he was thirteen years old strapped loosely around his wrist anyway. His twenty minutes of peace are officially over. Sighing, he pops the strap circling his left ear, hardly registering the sharp slap against his skin. He flattens his palms against the wood of the park bench, splinters poking into his skin. It needs to be sanded down.

Pushing himself up to stand, Minhyuk grabs his patchwork satchel, a random buy from the market a couple years ago, and slings the long, brown leather strap over his head. The pouch of the satchel hangs at his hip, a flexible yet sturdy abomination of mismatched denims and other fabrics. He loves the thing, even though his father has been trying to throw it out behind his back for months now. His mother thinks it has charm. She's always been the more easygoing parent of the two.

Minhyuk pinches his index finger and thumb around the rim of the black bill of his cap and lifts it off his head. He raises his other hand to ruffle his dark hair, pushing it off his forehead before fitting the cap snug again.

"You have to go," he sighs. "No matter how much you don't want to."

As he begins to walk in the ghost trail of the expecting family of three, in the direction of the west gate, Minhyuk checks the time again. He gave himself a wide margin to get to downtown, accounting for the buses running late (because they're always late). His father offered to have him sent by car, although saying he offered implies that he had thrown the option into the air with a light enough tone that Minhyuk would be able to politely decline without hassle. They had argued for longer than necessary, a good twenty-five minutes spent fighting over how Minhyuk would get to the city, but that wasn't what they were really clashing heads about. Their arguments are never about what they are talking about at the time.

The west gate leads to a residential area of cramped apartment buildings and infrastructure in need of an update. The nearest bus stop is at the corner and Minhyuk leans against the metal post that marks it, the blue sign that used to be bolted to it long since ripped off and missing.

This side of the kingdom has seen better days, though the same can be said about any place that isn’t the small expanse of land considered the city center. None of the people who live in these parts see the same luxuries of those who have been lucky enough to acquire a substantial amount of wealth. They probably never will. Not as long as the Son's neglect to acknowledge the widening gap between their people's economic standing.

The bus pulls in a long ten minutes later, right on time for Minhyuk but half an hour late according to the schedule. It's an ugly thing, a junk metal sausage on four tires that looks like it'll fall apart at any moment. The brakes screech when it slows to a stop in front of Minhyuk, the doors whistling a sharp sound when they swing open.

Huddled in the driver's seat is a bean of a man with a cliff-edge brow and sagging cheeks. Minhyuk nods at him as he boards.

A woman surrounded by deep, cotton totes overflowing with groceries is taking up three of the sixteen seats available. Minhyuk plants himself in a seat across the aisle from her. He kicks one leg over the other and presses his back stiff against the unforgiving metal frame and thin padding of the seat. The window to his left is smudged with oil and grime that blocks the sunlight from filtering through like a stretch of streaky, black clouds. He peers out of the small window where there is a clear gap of glass and watches the wheels of the bus stir up plumes of brown. At each bump and rock, the bus lurches horribly and the body of the vehicle cries out as if begging the driver to be mindful.

Minhyuk doesn't take these buses often, only when he finds the time and the spare change to come out to this side of the kingdom. They strictly circulate South Maua, never venturing into North or East Maua where the roads have been paved over and the buses don't look like a grade school art project. But Minhyuk favors the country charm of the south, finds something beautiful and raw about how content those who live here are without the blinding city lights and constant noise of the rest of the kingdom. It's a life Minhyuk can only dream of.

The bus slows to a creaky stop, five minutes later. His only companion stands with her hand on the back of her seat as the bus pulls up to the corner of a cluster of apartment complexes.

Minhyuk turns away from the window. "Will you be okay? Do you need any help?" he asks, lifting his hand to flag her attention.

She looks at him with round eyes, surprised at his offer. A light smile pulls at her lips. She has a mother's face, soft and round with smile lines that suggest she lives on laughter. "No thanks, dearest. Nothing I've never done before. Best of days to you."

He nods, but he still carefully watches her heave her purchases onto strong shoulders and march down the aisle of the bus. She drops a handful of change into the counter box by the door.

"Best of days to you," Minhyuk calls after her.

She turns over her shoulder to nod and exits the bus.

Minhyuk can hardly follow her walk down the grass lined road through the stained window and he leans back into his seat. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes as the bus continues its ride through the residential area and toward the bridge leading into East Maua. They pick up a kid who looks to be Minhyuk’s age with a chestnut brown crew cut and a red bookbag to match his unbuttoned plaid shirt. He slides into the seat closest to the door, nodding at Minhyuk once when their gazes align and then taking a slim phone out of the side pocket of his bag. He’s most likely a university student from the looks of it, either starting his daily commute or returning to a home away from home in the city, closer to the university campus.

Minhyuk watches him for a second longer, thinking about his own phone buried deep in his satchel beneath a few bags of mixed dried fruits that he picked up on a whim from the open air market this morning before his stroll in the park. He hasn’t touched the device since he left the house half past nine, knowing he’ll have a few missed calls from his father’s people about making it to his appointment on time and nothing more. It’d be different if it was just one or two simple reminders, but there’s always a faint hint of a preemptive scold, like they don’t’ believe that he’ll do what he’s supposed to, even though there is no precedent for that kind of mistrust. Minhyuk always does what he has to. He doesn’t have much choice in that. Whether or not he lives up to expectation is another matter all together.

Forgetting about the lecture he’s in for for ignoring everyone and slipping out of the house this morning without disclosing where exactly he was going, Minhyuk drops his head and closes his eyes once again.

He rouses from a thoughtless trance when he registers a change in the bus’ rocking. Blinking his eyes open, he peers out of the window to see nothing but open wheat fields. The fields don’t stretch for very long, maybe five kilometers or so, but they lead up to the bridge. The final bus stop on this route is at a small rest stop about three kilometers out from Miz River. It’s really nothing more than a gas station and a convenience store, but it has a line of indoor showers for the farmers and anyone else who passes through. Minhyuk doesn’t quite see the point. From the southern-most point of Maua to the northern tip is 3 hours by car and shorter than that from east to west. But he supposes they’re useful for those coming through their kingdom to reach one of their neighbors.

The bus pulls into the small parking lot and stops in front of the doors of the convenience store. Minhyuk rises and follows behind the kid in red. He flips the lock on his satchel and counts out the change from the small interior pocket. He exits the bus with a thank you on his lips that isn’t returned by the driver.

Standing in the middle of the concrete sidewalk, Minhyuk glances at his watch again. He has a little over an hour to make it to the restaurant. It’s plenty of time. The walk from here over the bridge is only about twenty minutes. The restaurant isn’t too far into East Maua and sits close to the blurred line between it and the northern neighborhood.

When he looks up to start crossing the parking lot to the walkway along the road that will take him over into the city, he notices his riding partner drifting toward the small shop. There are some others milling around. A woman is leaning against the stone wall of the shop, hand on her skirt-suited hip and in the middle of a phone call. Over at the gas station, a stocky man with a full beard is filing up the tank of his beat up pickup.

There aren’t enough eyes for Minhyuk to start feeling like someone is going to come up and start asking questions, so he slips his fingers behind his ear and tugs off his mask. He folds it in half and stuffs it in the back, left pocket of his bleach washed jeans.

The parking lot separating the store from the road has a max capacity of twenty cars and Minhyuk is back on the main road just as the beat up pickup pulls up to the stop sign.

He’s thankful for the thick grey clouds moving in from the north, bringing a light breeze in with them. The cool air combats the early summer heat and the sweat beading between the bones of his shoulder blades.

Few cars are traveling at this time. This bridge doesn’t get much traffic in general, but it’s void of traffic while everyone is at work.

Minhyuk keeps his eyes on the teal water of the river. A commercial boat is sailing away from him, upstream. It’s probably heading to Aex, their neighbor to the right. He should know for sure, should be more aware of what is what in his kingdom, but Minhyuk can’t say for sure. It doesn’t really matter.

His brother is the more involved one, keeps up with all of that so Minhyuk doesn’t have to. So Minhyuk doesn’t starting gaining hope that he’ll be able to make a difference in this place. So that Minhyuk always knows his place as the unneeded second Prince of Son.

At the end of the bridge is a sign of cream limestone, the words _Welcome to Lily East_ etched into the front. He takes a left at the first stop light in, reaching into his pocket for his face mask.

No one knows who he is but they know his face as the cute junior worker, as a distant relative to the royal family, as many things that don’t make sense considering he _lives_ in the House of Petals. But that’s what happens when your family pretends you don’t exist outside of the four walls of your home.

Sighing into the black cotton and scrunching up his face at the heat that collects, he flags a taxi. He pops the strap against his face as the silver car with two white stripes painted horizontally down its side drifts as close to the curb as it can.

He pulls the door open the backseat and slides into the car.

“Best of days to you,” the driver greets. He has a young face with fat cheeks and a gentle smile. He almost reminds Minhyuk of his brother. “Where can I take you?”

“Best of days to you,” Minhyuk returns. “I’m going to 22nd Street and Mauve.”

The driver nods and starts the meter before pulling into the early afternoon traffic once more.

Minhyuk checks the time to make sure the seconds, the minutes hasn’t someone slipped past him.

“Did you hear about Prince Hyunwoo’s coronation?’ The driver glances over his shoulder, trying to make conversation.

Sighing quietly, Minhyuk scratches his nail down the ribbed polyester of the seatbelt stretched across his chest. “Oh, yes, I was pretty surprised by the news this morning,” he says, brightening his voice to keep up appearances.

He was quite surprised to walk out of his room this morning to see the staff in a flurry, to turn on his television to reporters standing outside the tall, white gates rushing out monologues about the rumor of the coronation. They had talked about holding Hyunwoo’s coronation soon but no one thought to inform Minhyuk of the actual date. Not even Hyunwoo.

“Although, I am curious about the second prince. My mother told me he’s only a year younger than Prince Hyunwoo and yet no one has ever seen him,” he continues, lying.

The driver hums and taps his fingers along the steering wheel. “There are pictures of Her Majesty, Queen Heeyoung from when she was with child. Rumor has it that he died after birth. Or that Her Majesty had an affair and His Majesty ordered the boy out.”

Minhyuk’s heard of all of these rumors and more. They could write a book with the amount of tales the kingdom folk have made up to explain why he’s never been introduced to the public. Not even a picture. (Although they have plenty of pictures of him, they just haven’t seemed to connect the dots). He wants nothing more than to say, ‘you know that blond boy who everyone seems to think is a member of the live-in staff? Yeah, that’s me and I’m the second Prince of Son.’’

But he cannot.

“What a pitiful kid,” he mutters with a slight grimace.

“Indeed,” the driver agrees. “One of the most important people in the kingdom and no one knows who he is.”

Sighing again, Minhyuk presses his cheek to the window and trains his eyes on the pale pink lines zooming by. He lets the conversation die in the space between them. There isn’t anything else he can say in return. With the exception of outing himself, there isn’t anything he _wants_ to say. He’s just the shadow of the House of Petals, hiding in plain sight but still just the unknown prince of Maua.

The headline he read at the park asked the question of if the public would finally get a glimpse of him. Minhyuk hasn’t talked with his father about the coronation since its announcement but he doesn’t need to in order to know the answer is no.

It’s always no.

 ♣

Minhyuk stares up at the bleach white LED sign above the restaurant with an open glass front and a row of peonies lining the door.

“Why am I doing this again?” he asks himself and pushes the door open.

Jasmine punches him in the face as soon as he crosses the threshold, the perfume so thick it fills nose like the barrier of his mask wasn’t there. Minhyuk holds in his snort for fear of choking.

“They _would_ choose a place like this.”

Some posh place with smooth jazz playing overhead, with dimmed lights and an overbearing scent for ambiance. Can’t be too classy — can’t have a twinkling chandelier that looks like dying stars — but can’t be too pedestrian either. It can’t be any regular walk-in joint.

The host gives him a polite smile and steps away from the mid-chest high redwood podium to bow slightly at the waist.

“I have a reservation under Lee,” Minhyuk says after slipping off his mask. He doesn’t imagine these people know who he actually is. It’s not like his father has rented out the entire restaurant like he would have done with Hyunwoo, so there is no cause for suspicion about why a guy who looks like him has the money to spare on a date in a place like this.

The host confirms the reservation on his list and leads him to a square table in the back the restaurant. He pulls out a chair with a silver wire frame and spotless white padding and motions for Minhyuk to sit, placing a menu in the center of the table.

Minhyuk lifts the strap of his satchel over his head as he sits. Remembering his cap, he takes that off as well and hooks it on his bag’s strap.

The host takes his leave, informing Minhyuk that the waiter will be around soon.

In poor form, Minhyuk slouches over the table as soon as the man turns his back. He unlocks his phone, unsurprised at the number of text messages he has. He sends a reply to the first message in the list, telling Mr. Ahn — the Chief Adviser of the Council — that he is in the restaurant, there’s no need to freak out, please tell the others to stop sending me messages before I throw my phone in the river.

He gets a reply almost immediately, a warning to not mess this up.

Minhyuk crosses two fingers on his left hand when he tells him that he won’t.

“Excuse me?”

Minhyuk lifts his head and looks to his right at the call. A woman in a white shirt, black slacks and matching vest stands beside the table. Her hair is tied into a bun atop her head but a few strands fall in caramel ringlets over her shoulders. She looks rather young, somewhere between mid-twenties and early thirties. Her skin is the shade of almonds and she has a dusting of light freckles over her nose.

She lifts the small tablet in her hand. “Would you like something to drink, sir? Or anything else to start you off with?”

“Ah,” Minhyuk stutters, sitting up. He flips open the menu and quickly scans through the first page of starter foods. “Can I have a glass of water? And a slice of lemon on the side. Two. For when my…date arrives.”

“Sure thing.” She doesn’t bother keying in the request for water.

“And I suppose an order of the pesto bruschetta.”

The waitress nods and fingers the tablet. “I’ll be back with your water.”

Minhyuk fiddles with his phone, opening and closing menus absentmindedly while he waits for the water. He smiles at the waitress when she comes with two full glasses, a lemon wedge pressed into each rim, a minute later and takes a sip as soon as she sets one down in front of him.

Minhyuk scopes out the other occupants of the restaurant. There aren’t many, the lunch hour having past for most workers, but there’s a group of smartly suited women at a table closer to the door. They’re all smiling pleasantly at one another as if they actually enjoy each other’s company so Minhyuk supposes they’re coworkers on break and not in a business meeting.

A similarly suited man is seated at another table, nursing a small glass of wine while he flicks his thumb across the screen of his tablet. Two tables to the left of him is a brunette woman sitting across from a young girl who looks to be younger than Minhyuk who looks just like her, a mother-daughter date it seems.

He checks the time. He did get here a little early but the woman he’s to meet should be arriving soon. As much as he hates to, he pulls up the browser on his phone and skims through the news on the buzz at the House of Petals to pass the time until he can’t take it any longer.

When the waitress returns with his order of bruschetta, she’s also followed by a woman Minhyuk has seen only once in a picture shown to him by Mr. Ahn.

The woman is a looker; Minhyuk can admit that much when he stands to greet her. Her skin is a cool, sandy color, her pale cheeks filled with the summer sun. It matches well with her salmon, lace-lined blouse and light denim jeans.

Minhyuk is thankful she also didn’t see the need in dressing up despite their venue.

Her hair, the shade of midnight in the countryside, falls over her shoulders past her collarbones. She brushes at her straight bangs and sticks her hand out. “Hyunjung Kim,” she introduces herself. “But please call me Seola.” Her voice is neither deep nor tinny, just like her face is soft but her eyes are filled with fight.

Minhyuk opens his mouth but stops when he notices the waitress loitering behind Seola. He had been intending to use his real last name, but remembers his place. “Minhyuk Lee,” he says at last, taking her hand in his. It was his mother’s idea to use the last name Lee, something different from his father’s last name and her maiden name.

Her palm is ice against his but her grip is strong. After a firm, single shake, he slips his hand away and motions to the seat across from his. “Please sit.”

With a nod, Seola rounds the table and pulls out the chair, filling her place at the table as Minhyuk does the same. Once she’s seated, the waitress places the cream plate of toasted bread between them and tells them she will be back in a few minutes to take their order.

Seola picks up the menu from where Minhyuk left it hanging on the edge of the table and cracks it open. “Do you know who I am?” She asks, glancing up over the top of the laminated booklet for a quick second before dropping her eyes again. “My father showed me your picture but didn’t give me any information about you other than that you were in some way connected to the royal house. I and my friends were all convinced you were a member of the cleaning staff.”

Minhyuk laughs, genuinely laughs because at least she’s honest. “Why did you agree to come if you think I’m a staff member?” He asks but continues without waiting for a response. “I’m the son of one of the King’s cousins.” It’s the lie he goes to the most when asked _who are you? Why are you always at the House of Petals? Do you know the second prince?_

“I didn’t agree. My father is the second lieutenant of the land forces. He forced me to come, saying things like how if I didn’t come ‘it would be such an insult to His Majesty. What if you actually like him, Hyunjung? This is the royal family’s graciousness’,” she explains, deepening her voice in a reenactment of her father. Her lips twist into a scowl and she rolls her eyes.

Nodding shallowly, Minhyuk hums in understanding.

“So I apologize if you were looking forward to this.”

“I wasn’t,” Minhyuk reassures almost bitterly, matching Seola in bluntness. “My parents like to make decisions for me without consulting me about it first. Actually, I only found out three days ago that a reservation had been made in my name and I was supposed to take you out.”

Setting down the menu, Seola looks at Minhyuk with wide eyes. “Wow, my dad talked to me about this almost a month ago. “I’m upset, but I don’t even know how mad I’d be if I was you.”

 _You have no idea_ , Minhyuk thinks. “I’m used to it. A perk of being related to the royal family but not important enough to matter, apparently. They probably think they’re doing me a favor because I’ve shown no interest in dating.”

A shadow passes over Seola’s face at his statement. “There is a man I like. But my dad likes to pretend those feelings mean nothing.”

Minhyuk grimaces. “I’m sorry.”

Seola shakes her head. “No need. It’s not your fault.” She looks at something out of the corner of her eye.

Following her gaze, Minhyuk turns his head and meets the crinkled eyes of the waitress as she approaches the table.

“Are you two ready to order?”

Seola and Minhyuk share a look.

“I don’t think there’ll be a need. I don’t plan on staying.” Seola smiles at her.

Minhyuk’s eyebrows rise. “Are you sure? It’d be a waste if you came out here and didn’t eat anything,” he says out of courtesy.

“That won’t be appropriate, don’t you think? I’ll help you eat the bruschetta since you’ve already ordered it. Feel free to get something yourself.”

He would rather not eat alone and he says as much.

The waitress looks between them, her polite smile replaced with a confused twist of her lips. “Alright,” she says hesitantly. If you change your mind, just call.”

Minhyuk nods. “Thank you.”

Seola, as she said, doesn’t stay much longer. She sips her water and eats most of the bruschetta. They make small talk, exchange simple tidbits like age and course of study at the university and complain about how much it’s forecast to rain later on in the week.

When the plate is littered with nothing but crumbs and flakes, Seola opens her beige purse and fetches a tan and mint floral, fabric wallet. From the wallet, she pulls out ten silver and drops it on the table in from of Minhyuk.

She smiles at him lightly. “That should be about half of the appetizer. May be a little bit more but take it as payment for having to spend your time meeting me.”

“If you’re paying me for that, then I should be paying you as well.”

“It’s fine. Just take it.” Her chair scratches against the floor when she pushes it back and stands. “I hope I don’t have to see you again under circumstances like this, Minhyuk. Best of days to you.”

“Best of days to you.” He watches her sidestep from between the chair and the table. He follows her path to the door with his eyes.

“Well, that went better than expected,” he mumbles to himself.

Heaving a tired sigh, he leans back in his chair and closes his eyes. And here he thought he was going to have to pretend to be a jerk to disinterest her.

Minhyuk drowns in jasmine and jazz for another fifteen minutes, thinking of everything and nothing, before he reopens his eyes. In the time spent watching splashes of color and abstract lines waltz around, the waitress must have slipped the check on the table because a black, rectangular file is sitting on the edge of the table.

Opening his own wallet, he deposits Seola’s money inside and pulls out the royal card, the one with his real name on it — Minhyuk Son — that is used whenever he spends money on official House of Petals business. The waitress gives him a pitying look when she takes the card and check.

He doesn’t really need the sympathy. This was the best case scenario.

What he needs is answers. He doesn’t understand why his father set him up with her. There are just no logical reasons for the decision. His parents would faster wish for Hyunwoo to court someone, wouldn’t even think about Minhyuk pursuing a relationship if they weren’t planning to also bring him into the spotlight. It doesn’t make sense no matter how much he thinks about it.

Standing, Minhyuk pockets his phone. He pops the adjustable snap on his cap and unhooks it from the strap of his bag. He hangs the satchel on his shoulder. Picking up his wallet, he steps away from the table. The waitress looks up at him when he approaches the front counter.

She smiles and taps a few more keys. “That you for dining with us, sir,” she says and slides his card over to him, wrapped in the white paper of the receipt. “She’ll come around.”

“I hope not,” is on the tip of Minhyuk’s tongue but he swallows it down thickly and smiles. “Thanks.”

“Best of days to you,” she says as she walks from behind the counter to tend to the other diners.

Minhyuk hums his reply.

Turning on his heel, Minhyuk heads for the exit. Once outside, he stops in the middle of the sidewalk and inhales his first breath of fresh air in nearly fifty minutes. He wrinkles his nose at the lingering perfume still coating his nostrils.

His exhale is more a sigh. “If you go back now, they’ll know you ruined it.”

Groaning, he takes out his phone. He goes straight to his contacts and dials the only person whose name doesn’t also include a proper title. In the half a minute it takes for the call to be picked up, Minhyuk check the numbers on the bus stop sign at the end of the street. Thankfully, the bus number he needs is listed.

“What?” The voice on the line is groggy, heavy with sleep.

“I’m coming over,” Minhyuk says simply.

There’s a mumble that Minhyuk can’t quite decipher. “Bring breakfast. And toilet paper.”

“It’s almost three in the afternoon.”

“Bring breakfast.”

Minhyuk rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay. See you in twenty.” He ends the call and leans against the steel pole of the sign to wait for the bus that’ll take him away from home.


	2. i.ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao i totally forgot this was in my drafts
> 
> words of advice:  
> 1\. don't write your entire novel-esque fic in lapslock because fixing the capitalization is the ultimate struggle  
> 2\. don't make your scenes 2500+ words because then you'll have long ass chapters full of unnecessary descriptions and absolutely nothing happens in them.  
> don't be like me, friends. don't be a tostito

“What brings you to Lily Heights, my friend?” Hoseok hangs in the doorway of his fifth floor apartment, hand holding the eggshell white slab of his door partially open. Ever since Hoseok moved in it’s been loose, swinging closed if there’s nothing to keep it from shutting.

Minhyuk has told him time and time again to get it fixed but Hoseok doesn’t seem to care; he once said it adds a new meaning to ‘don’t let the door hit you on the way out’. He laughed at himself for a solid ten minutes, thinking he was clever.

He and Hoseok have known each other since their second year in secondary school. There had been a disagreement about wages between his and Hyunwoo’s tutor and the education adviser. His mother had suggested they be sent to the private school where most of the top names into the advisory council sent their children to give them the peer socialization they were missing. Their rigorous tutoring schedule meant they were ahead academically and Minhyuk had been placed in the class a year higher than the one of his age bracket. He ended up sitting next to Hoseok because of their last names. They clashed a little back then, when Minhyuk was still a firecracker of a boy and Hoseok cried over everything — although Hoseok hasn’t grown out of the crying thing yet — but they wormed their way into each other’s hearts.

Kicking his leg out, Minhyuk pushes his way into the apartment when Hoseok jolts back in surprise. “Did you forget about my date today?” He grumbles, tossing the plastic wrapped set of sixteen toilet paper rolls down the hall. They bounce clumsily and stop in front of the closet that houses Hoseok’s washing machine.

With his right hand now free, Minhyuk bends down to unlace his shoes. The plastic bag of fried chicken in his left hand crinkles noisily as it swings into his leg.

“Oh, was that today?” Hoseok sniffs and scratches at his side.

Minhyuk digs his toes into the back of his shoe and slips his foot out. “Oh, was that today?” He mimics with a whiny voice that, admittedly, sounds nothing like Hoseok’s mid-tone tenor. He kicks off his other shoe. “We talked about it a couple days ago.”

Hoseok pulls his door closed and turns the lock. “If you didn’t say something last night, I don’t remember.” Hoseok squeezes around Minhyuk and steps out of the entranceway. “So how’d it go?” He moves down the hall, stopping to bend over and pick up the toilet paper.

“She was very obviously disinterested. Although everyone who saw her walk out on me thought I was being dumped.” Minhyuk follows him to the bathroom. “You owe me ten silver for that.”

Hoseok glances at the toilet paper, blinding tapping the motion switch for the light. The bathroom in all its cream and light green accents glows beneath the white fluorescent light. “What the hell? Has it always been that expensive?” He sets the bundle on top of the sink counter.

“It’s been around the same price for years. You just don’t want to pay me for literally saving your ass.” Minhyuk draws away from the bathroom door and continues down the hall, past Hoseok’s bedroom, to the small living room.

The room is cramped, not necessarily because it's small but because Hoseok has a lot of stuff pushed and shoved into every sliver of space he can find. The back wall is lined with a white, wood set of three bookshelves. They're short, three shelves high and three shelves across, but they're full of textbooks and leisure reading and figurines and knickknacks Hoseok has collected from open air markets over the years. In the far left corner sits the television, a wide, flat screen, and parked in front of it is a burnt orange, two and a half seater couch.

Blended into the living room space is the kitchen. The wide sink and electric stove are inset into an island, empty counter space in between. Against the back wall is a long counter, the refrigerator next to it. There's enough walking space in between the counter and the island for two people to stand hip to hip. There’s technically room for a small dining area, but Hoseok considers it a part of the living room and filled it with a giant grey, plush bean bag chair.

Minhyuk drops the plastic bag on the short white table in front of the couch that’s more of an uncomfortable footrest than anything, right beside a tall, thin-necked glass bottle.

He picks it up and turns it in his hands to see the label.

"Honeysuckle vodka?" he reads. He hears Hoseok pad into the room. "Is this a new brand?"

Hoseok leans past him to poke his fingers in the plastic bag. "Bora brought that over," he pauses and digs out the thick, paper carry-out box from the bag, "three days ago? You know, it's crazy that the palace is called the House of Petals and it's impossible to find good honeysuckle vodka. You should tell your dad to fix that."

"Yes, I’ll just go up to him later on and say, 'hey dad, do you mind figuring out why no one knows how to balance the sweetness of honeysuckle in vodka? Thanks."

"You’d be doing this kingdom a huge service." He nods at the bottle in Minhyuk's hand. "That one is probably the best I’ve had. Pop it open. We’ll pour some out while we talk about your future wife.”

Rolling his eyes, Minhyuk sets down the bottle. "Please don't even make jokes about that."

"Can I do the speech at the ceremony? Do you royal people even have weddings like the rest of us or is there some special format?" Hoseok cracks open the take out box. "Is this regular fried or spicy?"

"It’s half and half," Minhyuk explains. "We haven't had a marriage in Petal Palace since I’ve been born but, basically, they're more or less the same if the pictures of my parent's and my aunt's wedding are anything to go by. A little more pomp and press, I guess."

Hoseok hums, more interested in digging through the chicken. He plucks out a drumstick with a slight red twinge to it. Spicy.

"That was eleven silver, by the way."

Hoseok serves him a dead look as he bites into the chicken. "You should be more willing to help your people out of the graciousness of your heart, Prince Minhyuk Son," he says sarcastically.

Minhyuk snorts. "And you should pay up all the money you owe me, son of the Adviser of Fortune, Hoseok Shin."

"I’ll pay you back eventually." Hoseok's words come out mangled around the food in his mouth. He holds up a finger while he finishes chewing and swallows. "I’m on a tight budget."

Slapping Hoseok with the same dead look he was given, Minhyuk goes to find the television remote. "You’re a freeloader."

He finds the remote sitting atop one of the bookshelves, poking out from behind a cute, stuffed cow.

“Only when it comes to you.” Hoseok bats his eyelashes. The beauty of the look is truly heightened by the stain of grease glossing his lips.

Turning on the television, Minhyuk flips through the channels.

Slipping around the couch, Hoseok enters his kitchen. Minhyuk flops onto the couch and tucks his feet beneath his legs. He faintly hears Hoseok ripping off a paper towel sheet as his finger pauses its mindless pressing of the up channel arrow.

The television stops on a kid’s history program. A young actress is dressed in a shimmery pink dress, her form edited to be ghostly and mysterious. It takes for the scene to change to a patch of sunflowers in the middle of a dense forest for Minhyuk to realize this is a story of how the first queen was blessed by the Fates.

Hoseok returns to the living room with a handful of paper towels and tosses them on the small table. He takes up the remaining space of the couch, curling up on his side and pushing his heels into Minhyuk’s thighs.

“What is this?” He asks, sticking out a leg to drag the table closer to the couch. His toes brush the leg of it and he wiggles closer to the edge of the couch to hook his ankle around and pull in. “Is this the story of Queen Ga-in?”

Minhyuk extends a hand down to help even out the table. “Yeah.”

They say Queen Ga-in was born of light and sunflower kisses, blossomed right out of the ground like the flowers she was surrounded by when she was found by a man wandering through the forest. They say she was created by the Fates who were tired of the hatred boiling within the region; a nature loving child who, as a woman, brought the people together and ended the War of Threes to establish the kingdom of Maua.

Minhyuk isn’t quite sure if he believes it, doesn’t quite believe in the Fates or that each ruler of Maua is Ga-in’s descendent, but there is no denying that each monarch following her has had a love and affinity for nature that almost bordered on spiritual dependence.

“I know Hyunwoo is being propped up as the next king, but I honestly think it’s you,” Hoseok says, peeling off a strip of meat from the bone. He tosses it into his mouth, lips smacking noisily as he chews. He’s doing it on purpose, knowing the sound of saliva makes Minhyuk’s skin crawl.

Minhyuk decides not to comment on it. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’re the obvious child of Ga-in between the two of you. You’re your mother’s son. Hyunwoo looks like he can’t even keep a cactus alive.”

It is somewhat true. Minhyuk is the one with the greater affinity for nature; Hyunwoo hasn’t shown much interest. But Minhyuk definitely isn’t as in tune as his mother is, has ruined his fair share of blooms. The flowers don’t droop when he’s down like they do when his mother isn’t at her best.

He laughs. “Maybe. Would you really want me to lead the kingdom, though?”

“Yeah, because you’ll appoint me as your right hand man and then I can mooch whatever I want off you.”

“You’re useless. I wouldn’t even ask you to feed my dog.”

Hoseok sits up, fried chicken skin hanging limp between his lips. “You don’t have a dog.”

“Exactly.”

Grinning when Hoseok kicks him flat-footed against his thigh, Minhyuk continues to go through the other channels. Hoseok makes him stop on an action film with dark lighting and a love for wide shots.

“Is this an Uqi movie?” Minhyuk questions once he picks up on an accent that is just a bit different from their own.

Uqi is their neighbor to the North, known for its large entertainment market, with a nearly identical dialect to the one spoken in Maua and Aex.

“Yeah. You’ve never seen it? It came out last year.”

Reaching across the table, Minhyuk slides the take-out box over and plucks out a non-seasoned wing. “Well, it’s not like I go to the theater.”

Hoseok kicks him again but with force. “Uh, excuse me. That’s my breakfast you’re eating.”

“I haven’t eaten since actual breakfast time.” Not counting the appetizer at the restaurant with Seola earlier.

“If I share with you, I’m only paying for half.”

Minhyuk ends up eating another two pieces while they watch the movie that’s filled with a lot of fake blood for something playing during the day. It must be a special satellite channel.

His fingers are already wrapped around a spicy drumstick when his phone vibrates in his pocket and beeps a cute hummingbird song of a tune. He asks Hoseok to pass him a paper towel to sit his drumstick on and wipe his fingers. He pulls out his phone and quickly answers the call from Hyunwoo before it cuts off.

“Unloved child speaking,” is what Minhyuk answers with, never missing a chance to antagonize his older brother.

It’s wrong, he knows. Hyunwoo isn’t at fault here, but Minhyuk likes playing on how uncomfortable Hyunwoo can get about it sometimes.

Hoseok, listening in, chuckles beside him.

Hyunwoo sighs. “You need to come home. We just heard that the woman you met said she would rather not see you again. Dad thinks you messed up on purpose.”

 _I was going to_ , Minhyuk doesn’t bother saying out loud. “Can’t believe putting two strangers together doesn’t automatically make them like one another. Who knew?”

“You did throw a huge tantrum when Adviser Ahn told you about it.”

“Was I supposed to be happy about being forced to meet some unknown woman? Even you aren’t made to go on blind dates.”

“You could have been civil about it. Dad never does anything that isn’t with your best interests in mind.”

Minhyuk stops himself from scoffing. What a joke. “Tell dad I’ll be home when I feel like going home.”

He ends the call without listening to Hyunwoo’s response. His brother isn’t a bad guy, but Minhyuk absolutely hates how everything is always his fault — if you do this, if you didn’t do that. He can’t win.

“That was quick,” Hoseok says a minute later. “You’ve been here, what, an hour and a half?”

“Seola probably told her father to get off her case as soon as she left. She was Lieutenant Kim’s daughter.”

“Lieutenant Kim with the scar on his cheek that looks like a dolphin?”

“I don’t pay that much attention to his face, Hoseok,” Minhyuk says, casting Hoseok an odd look.

“My mom says he’s always trying to kiss up to the king.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Minhyuk picks up his chicken and peels the skin off with his teeth.

“So are you going home?”

“When I finish this, yeah. No point in dragging out the inevitable.”

“I’ll pray to the Fates for you.” Hoseok pats Minhyuk’s shoulder comfortingly with the clean palm of his hand.

Minhyuk snorts and bites into the meat. “Thanks.”

It doesn’t take much longer for Minhyuk to finish eating. Soon he slips off the couch and wonders if he wants to take the long way home.

Hoseok stands as well and wipes his fingers on his sweatpants despite the napkins in arms reach. He draws Minhyuk in for a hug. He doesn’t say anything, but Minhyuk gets it.

_I know you’re mad. But don’t get too heated. You’re stronger than that._

Patting his friend on the back, Minhyuk steps out of Hoseok’s hold. He takes his bag and exits the living room. While he walks to the front door, Hoseok runs into his bedroom.

Minhyuk steps down the slight step into the doorway. Bending down, he flips the tongue of his shoes and jams his feet in one by one. He’s working on the laces for his left foot when Hoseok comes down the hall.

“Your sixteen silver, Prince Cheap.” Hoseok holds out his hand, the coins jingling as they clank together.

Rolling his eyes, Minhyuk finishes tying his shoes before letting Hoseok drop the money in his curled palm. “See if I’ll ever buy you anything again. Because I won’t.”

He will.

“Yeah, yeah.” Hoseok playfully punches his shoulder. “Call me if you need me.”

“Pull out the spare blankets just in case tonight’s the night I get disowned.”

Without looking, Minhyuk tosses the silver into his bag. He nods at Hoseok who grins back. Turning, he twists the lock on the door and then the handle, opening the door to a very long night.

 ♣

As soon as Minhyuk navigates into the main hall, thankful that despite the rumor of an event, there were very little reporters outside to deal with, he’s immediately whisked to his father’s study by one of the junior members of the cleaning staff, Junhong. Apparently, they were given the widespread order of ‘whoever sees him first, bring him’. Junhong tries to reassure him with a comforting smile.

“His Majesty doesn’t seem too mad, your highness,” he says.

But Minhyuk isn’t twelve anymore. He doesn’t need this pep talk, especially not from someone they hired two months ago, who doesn’t know anything.

His father’s study is primarily used for small meetings — the larger ones take place in the Lecture Hall to the left of the House. The room is all strong reds and golden yellows in contrast to the pastel pinks and rose gold, light and unassuming throughout the rest of the kingdom.

Knitted thick, velcro eyebrows and a hard line mouth are what greet him when he dismisses Junhong and pushes open the heavy wooden door of the study. Minhyuk immediately averts his eyes away from his father’s, not out of fear, but to nod at Adviser Ahn standing off to the side.

His father opens his mouth but Minhyuk cuts him off.

“Can we really not get into today? I’m starting to get a headache,” he says. His fingers start to dip into his pockets and he draws them out, clasping his hands behind his back.

That doesn’t seem to be what his father was hoping to hear because his eyes narrow further a fraction, pupils dilating.

“Minhyuk,” Adviser Ahn tries to step in, even holds his hand out as if to place it on the prince’s shoulder.

“ _You’re_ starting to get a headache?” His father’s bass is a firm bass, gravelly from a stress-smoking problem unlike Minhyuk’s natural rasp. “You could have cost me valuable intel on the Nadirians today, Minhyuk.”

Minhyuk immediately frowns, unconsciously drawing his head back into his neck as he tries to wrap his head around what his father is saying. “What the fuck did me meeting Seola have to do with Nadir?” Granted, he had, and still doesn’t have, any clue as to why he was forced to take the daughter of the second Lieutenant out on a date under secrecy, but he never thought it would have a connection to the kingdom to the south.

 “Lieutenant Kim offered to collect information on the situation in Nadir now that they’ve refused to negotiate the borders and keep us updated on the recent change in power,” Adviser Ah explains.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” he says, gritting his teeth.

“We were made aware that his girl has been involved with one of _them_ and so I decided to help Kim with this little problem for showing such loyalty and initiative.” His father looks at him with bored eyes and quirked lips.

Suddenly, it makes sense. Minhyuk would laugh if he wasn’t getting increasingly heated by the second.

He looks at the Head Adviser and then at his father. “I’m waiting for you to tell me that you didn’t set me up with her just because Lieutenant Kim is a xenophobe and I look Nadirian.”

A majority of the population of Nadir are characterized for their olive skin and hair that often varies from a light brown to a rusty blond as opposed to the dark brown and, most common, black hair of the others who live in this part of the continent.  Minhyuk wouldn’t exactly say they’re discriminated against as an ethnic group as much as he would say there’s just a lot of bad blood between them historically.

“Consider it a test. We could have let you pose as one of them and accompany Kim. You always say you wanted a bigger presence in the kingdom, but if you can’t charm a simple woman, surely you can’t handle the attitude of this political climate,” his father sneers at him.

Minhyuk feels his left eye twitch when he narrows them. He clenches his hands behind his back until his nails bite into his palms. The sharp pain should have calmed him down, but it only makes him angrier. “Don’t you dare try to make this into something that means anything for me or this kingdom. You can’t sell me off to curry favor with your second-rate soldiers. That’s not my job.”

“And, pray-tell, Minhyuk, what is your job?” His father leans forward on his elbows and knits his fingers together, resting his chin on the backs of his hands. “What do you do for the kingdom?”

This is a trap. Minhyuk knows one when he sees one. If he played along, he would talk about how he’s a prince, about how his status elevates him above playing the bribe role. But that’s the game. He hasn’t had his Introduction yet and, no matter what his bloodline says, in the grand scheme of things, he’s little more than a commoner. He won’t give his father the satisfaction of pointing that out, of reminding Minhyuk of how insignificant he is, of how the people get on just fine without their second prince.

But refusing to play doesn’t stop the words from echoing through his head, soundbites of their previous battles looping on repeat. _Why aren’t you more like Hyunwoo? You’re useless._ And his personal favorite: _I don’t know why I let your mother convince me to let her keep you_. His father doesn’t say that one often. It’s only reserved for special occasions.

Spinning on his heel, Minhyuk makes for the door.

“Your Highness,” Adviser Ahn calls as Minhyuk swings it open enough to fit through.

He slams the door to the study so hard the light fixtures on the wall tremble under the force. The need to scream builds in his gut and moves up through his lungs to his throat but he swallows it back down. He can feel it hanging on the back of his tongue, trying to crawl its way up. Minhyuk tries to channel the energy elsewhere, clutching his hands until his nails dig into his palms.

He takes off down the hall to anywhere that isn't in relatively close proximity to his father.

On his way home, he had said he would keep it cool, that he wouldn't blow up because he's sure his father and the council get some kind of sick satisfaction from it. Like they're waiting for the moment when he completely loses it so they can justify their keeping Minhyuk in the dark for all these years.

He may want to be treated with the same respect as Hyunwoo, but he won't sell himself for things like this, won't let them run all over him in a way they would never do with his brother.

"Welcome back, Your Highness," a senior maid greets when he passes by a group of the cleaning staff making their way to the grand hall.

He nods back out of politeness, not trusting himself at the moment to smile and not have it look warped, feral around the edges. He powers by them to the staircase just a couple more feet away at the end of the hall, noticing out of the corner of his eye their expressions dropping with the realization that he was steaming with anger.

Steps quick, he flies down the stairs leading to the third floor and nearly runs into the spindly body of his mother. The momentum of his near run draws him forward even though he backpedals and he almost simultaneously trips both up and down the stairs.

"Minhyuk?" Heeyoung frowns, reaching out to curve long, slender fingers around Minhyuk's shoulders. She steadies him, grounds him, until his body stops buzzing with the need to move, move, move. Lifting her hands to cup his cheeks, she tilts his head to look up at her.

It takes her calling his name again for him to direct his gaze off the floor and to her face.

She's a beautiful woman even in her middle age. Her eyes are unnaturally big compared to her husband and Hyunwoo and her lashes long. Lately, she has looked rather pale, her skin like moonlight, but today there's a pink to her cheeks and the slight hint of a tan like she's spent a lot of time outside today. Her hair is the deepest of black, just like everyone else in the family except him, and is pulled up in a messy bun that the press would call 'quite unfitting of a woman of her status'.

"You look nice today. Did you work in the garden?" he asks, hoping to misdirect her away from his mood. He even attempts a smile.

There must be something off about it because she frowns lightly and rubs her thumbs over the balls his cheeks.

"Come have tea with me, darling. The King and Queen of Uqi have gifted me with a canister of genmaicha and I have yet to try it," she requests. Her hands leave his face and one of them runs gentle fingers through his hair.

He agrees -- although a part of him wishes to be alone, he knows she won't let him run off.

 ♣

An avid drinker of tea, his mother has a room specifically for tasting and light accompanying snacks on the third floor. When she turns and begins to walk down the east hall, powder blue silk gown fluttering behind her, Minhyuk follows behind without complaint.

"Weren't you going upstairs?" he asks.

"I hadn't heard you were back until just a minute ago. I was hoping to join you when you met your father."

The still angry half of Minhyuk hisses out a bitter 'thanks for nothing' in the back of his mind. He shakes his head furiously, trying to force his temper from a rolling boil to at least a low simmer for now.

The tea room is in the middle of the hallway, next to one of their many guest bedrooms. Dark hardwood floor is covered in soft blue blankets and round pillows; the walls are painted a pale, sky blue with white accents. Living in a landlocked kingdom, his mother has always expressed an interest in the ocean they very rarely get to visit. A single white table sits in the center of the room, parting the waves of blankets and pillows.

Along the interior perimeter are oakwood drawers. Some are filled with canisters of tea from other kingdoms, other continents. Some house tea cups and saucers and little silverware forks and spoons. Some hold books and some have nothing at all within and are simple decoration.

Minhyuk takes a seat against the right wall and picks up the nearest pillow, holding it to his chest. He watches his mother lift the phone sitting in the corner of the room and dial the kitchen. She requests someone make finger sandwiches -- "I'm not too particular about the filling but please make a couple with grape jam and butter for my baby" – and bring them up to the tea room.

Minhyuk can't help but smile.

"How do you even know I still like grape jam and butter sandwiches?" he asks when she hangs up the phone.

She huffs and places her hands on her hips. "I hear a lot about you harassing the chefs down the kitchen. Mrs. Jea is very concerned about your diet."

A laugh bubbles up Minhyuk's throat but it gets stopped by the scream still lingering there.

His mother flutters around the room, going through all of the cabinets and pulling out everything under the sun. From the largest cabinet, she pulls out a stoneware teapot, its white surface painted over with acrylic flowers and falling petals. Closing the glass doors with his elbow, she walks the teapot over to the table and sets it down before moving to the next set of drawers.

Her tea collection is extensive. It always seems she has another few bags, another few cans every time he catches her on the way to the tea room. Most of her collection are flowery, herbal teas. She says there is something that settles her about flower-blended teas and that the more grainy teas do little for her.

He lets himself get lost in the sound of his mother's movements -- the clank of stoneware tea cups hitting stoneware saucers, the hiss of the tea leaves rubbing against each other as they fall into the strainer, the light sound of his mother humming a made-up tune.

To be honest, he feels a little out of his element. Although he loves his mother dearly -- and they surely get along better than he does with his father -- he isn't used to her being this considerate of him. Not to say that she's never done something like this before, pull him aside and offer him a means of escape until the monster inside of him dies down, but more often than not, she's more subtle. A tighter squeeze when she goes in for a hug, a rare kiss on the forehead, a single flower left on his bedside table.

Displays like this give him whiplash. Because no matter how many times she apologizes on the behalf of her husband, changes to Minhyuk's situation have yet to be made. How much longer will hugging her pillows and drowning himself in the aroma of green tea work to soothe him before he starts to resent her too, for being complicit when she could bring him to the light.

A quick set of two knocks on the door jolt him out of his meditation and he blinks open his eyes to his mother watching him. She turns away the next second to look at the door and beckon the person on the other side to enter.

Sanghyuk, a junior member of the kitchen staff and the same age as Minhyuk, pushes open the door and steps inside. He stops just before the sea of blankets and bows at first the Queen and then Minhyuk who both return the greeting with a short nod of the head.

"Sanghyuk, darling," the queen coos. "Are the others still giving you the runaround?" she asks while she stands.

"Not at all, your Majesty." Sanghyuk smiles cutely. He raises the silver platter of small, square-cut sandwiches stacked into a pyramid higher. "I come with the refreshments for you and Prince Minhyuk."

The queen takes the platter from the boy. "Thank you, dear. You may return to your work."

"Best of days to you, your Majesty." He bows again, lower for his exit, and steps back into the hall. He closes the door behind him so lightly they barely hear the lock slip into place.

Placing the platter on the table, the queen waves at Minhyuk, motioning for him to come closer. "If you sit all the way over there, I'm going to think you don't want to spend time with your own mother."

A genuine smile curves the ends of Minhyuk's lips. "Sanghyuk practically rules the kitchen, you know," he says. Leaving the pillow, he crawls on his knees to the short end of the table. He crosses his legs beneath him and leans over the table, clasping his hands together.

Humming a curious noise, his mother continues her routine. "Is that so?" she asks. She brings the hot water pitcher over to the table and kneels in front of the table.

"All of the women love him. He has them wrapped around his finger." He watches the stream of water as she pours it into the pot, over the tea leaves sitting in the strainer.

"He's a cute little thing," she agrees.

Minhyuk wouldn't exactly call Sanghyuk 'little' considering he's taller than the both of them.

Setting the pitcher off to the side, Heeyoung sits adjacent to Minhyuk and folds her legs politely at her side.

"How are you feeling?" she questions, gazing at him with concern.

Minhyuk sighs and hunches over further. "Fine," he answers. "I think I've calmed down enough. I just-- I try hard to not lose it. I'm not the kid I used to be." The words taste foul on his tongue, like something that isn't quite the truth. "But it's hard when he's like that, mom. It's hard."

Frowning, his mother reaches over and covers his clasped hands with her own. "I know he's hard on you."

Ever since he can remember, he's wondered, but until now he's never felt the need to ask, "Why do you let him run everything? You are our queen by blood and he's only the king by name."

The question hits her hard. Her eyes widen and she squeezes Minhyuk's hands tighter. It takes a moment for her to collect herself. In that time, Minhyuk tries to read the words hidden in every twitch of her brow and wrinkle of her nose. At last, she settles on a small, tired smile. "It's not a question of why, darling. It's a question of how."

Minhyuk creases his brows. "What is that supposed to mean?"

She sighs and pats his left hand twice before letting go. Averting her eyes to the tray of breads, she pushes it towards him with her index and middle finger. "Do not worry yourself, Minhyuk."

But how can he not worry himself when she gives him such cryptic answers. Secrecy only lends itself to questions. Minhyuk can't handle too many more questions swimming in his head.

So he throws out another one to clear out space for new ones.

"I heard Hyunwoo's coronation will be happening soon," he starts. Picking out a grape jam and butter sandwich from the middle of the pyramid, he squishes the white bread between his fingers. "Do you know when?"

Shaking her head, his mother takes a square of her own. Only strawberry jam. "I have not heard from the Council of Advisers the date, yet."

"Will I be going?" is the next question he throws out. Even though he knows the answer, it had been buzzing at him since he read the headlines this morning.

His mother glances at him from the corner of her eye before returning to her sandwich. She takes a polite bite out of it even though the entire thing could fit into her mouth. She chews for a couple seconds and then answers, "I'm sorry."

It's not even that the answer was expected; he _knew_. But that affirmation brings back the heat, the fire that he has just put out.

"I rallied for you as much as I could to the Council but they think it would be more trouble than it's worth to introduce you as Hyunwoo is formally acknowledged as the heir apparent. Adviser Shin and Adviser Im were the only two to agree with me."

Naturally, Hoseok’s mother and Changkyun’s father would come to his defense.

"Would it not be troublesome for them to introduce me _after_ Hyunwoo's crowned? What difference does it make? Why even make the staff call me the prince when I’m never going to have my Introduction? Hyunwoo was introduced when he was four!"

His mother mumbles out, "Oh dear." She rests the remaining half of her sandwich on the clear perimeter of the platter. She rises on her knees to turn around and open the glass doors of the cabinet right behind her.

Minhyuk can't take his eyes off the pyramid of finger sandwiches, forcing himself to focus on the alternating fillings. Grape jam and butter, only strawberry jam, only butter, peanut butter, grape jam and butter, only strawberry jam... His fingers feel wet but he doesn't want to look down at them, afraid that if he blinks when his eyes are this warm, he'll never stop crying.

Lightly grasping his wrist, his mother moves his hands closer to her.

He feels the soft, slightly gritty brush of a tissue running over his knuckles and beneath his short fingernails.

"Minhyuk," his mother calls once she's cleaned his hands of jam and butter and removed the mangled bread from his clutches.

When he sucks in a deep breath, his lips tremble. When he looks at her, his cheeks are already wet.

She cleans his face with a fresh tissue. "Please be patient, darling," she whispers, sniffing back emotions of her own. "Our time will soon come. We just have to wait a little bit longer."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we just have to make it to chapter 3 (?) that's not when i stop being so unnecessarily wordy, but it is when hyungwon pops up so, yeah. this fic starts out kinda (horribly) slow but bear with me, it's just to get you used to the universe. it'll pick up eventually (maybe???? don't quote me on that ;* )


	3. i.iii

Although a definite safety concern, Minhyuk will always be thankful that the back of the royal yard isn’t gated where it meets a small cliff steep enough to deter the paparazzi but not so much as to prevent Minhyuk from climbing up and down when he wants to escape. The hill curves into a plot of land used as the royal graveyard where they’ve laid to rest his late relatives, a few top generals, and any person in the land forces who wasn’t claimed by a family.

They keep the graveyard staffed at all times to intimidate the more daring paparazzi who still try to get a glimpse of anything, but as they notice there really isn’t anything to see from the back of the compound, they stop coming as much. Minhyuk has bribed enough of the guards to not snitch when he sneaks out and they try their best to make sure no one’s around to spot him when he slips out of the cemetery that’s off limits for ordinary civilians.

He dusts off the bit of dirt powdered on his calf and shoots a grin to Taekwoon who only rolls his eyes and shoos him off.

"Get out of here," the young guard says, waving his hand like he was trying to get rid of a pesky fly. "It's clear."

Chirping out a thanks, Minhyuk salutes Taekwoon (who turns around and ignores him) and exits the cemetery through the elaborate stone archway to the street.

Taking the road east will lead to the city through the suburbs. Minhyuk doesn’t take that route into the city often, only when it’ll be too much of a hassle to waltz out the front entrance, because it’s more trouble than it’s worth between how long it takes to reach the nearest bus stop and potentially running into someone who will question why he was coming from the direction of the off-limits graveyard. He doesn’t often go west — or more specifically, he never goes west. It’s nothing but a long stretch of road and flat plains that eventually leads to the forest that takes up much of their border with Uqi. That forest, the Forest of Lights, is said to be the home of the Fates. As such, most people steer clear of it. Not many still actively believe in the Fates, but the superstitious fear of disturbing an ethereal power has left the forest safe from deforestation and wandering humans.

Wandering humans except for Minhyuk Son who decides in that moment to, if not enter the Forest, then to merely lose time in the plains around it.

He’s never actually seen the Forest in person, even as the prince. When he thinks about it, he’s not sure if he’s ever heard anyone talk about the Forest if it wasn’t in relation to a school lesson or the royal mandate. It’s one of those places that seems like it only exists in pictures, somehow fantastical and out of reach. Minhyuk isn’t buzzing with excitement, but he is curious to see the supposed majesty of sacred land, and so he heads west, walking quick with purpose. 

Somewhere between losing count of how many times he’s wiped droplets of sweat from his hairline and when the steady ache in his shins stops being ignorable, Minhyuk regrets his impromptu decision to go on an adventure. He knows the Forest isn’t so far out - or, at least, it doesn’t look that far on a map - but nearly an hour and a half passes before the Forest finally stops being just a speck on the horizon. Part of him thinks it’s just a mirage. But it’s too late to turn back when he’s already come out this far and so he presses on in the early summer heat, making a mental note to talk to someone about getting some benches installed out here. And maybe a fountain. 

Fifteen minutes and an innumerable amount of complaints later, the road suddenly ends. There’s no curb, no END OF THE ROAD; TURN BACK sign, nothing. There’s road and then there’s grass, a tiny dandelion peeking out from the blades.

“You made it and you're not even happy about it,” He grumbles to himself as the thought that he’s come all this way to see a bunch of trees suddenly hits him.

Heaving out a sigh, Minhyuk continues onto the grass toward the forest. When he reaches the edge of the forest and the first spread of trees, he’s notices a clear, man-made dirt path that winds through the wood. Although there is no one around, Minhyuk swivels his head around before he steps onto it and officially breaches the boundary of the Forest of Trees. 

Sunlight peeks through the canopies of the trees. Thinking it better to not wander, Minhyuk sticks to the path. It's quiet. Squirrels scurry out of his way and up the tall trunks of the trees, but he doesn't see much in the way of wildlife. It's kind of a disappointment. He wasn't hoping to see a bear or anything, but he was hoping that a forest left to its own devices would be filled with a bit more...life.

He continues on, minutes and seconds slipping beneath his feet quick like a sharp breeze, when he stops short. He kicks up a puff of dust when he trips slightly and the toe of his shoe digs down into the earth. On the horizon are staccato bursts of pink blending with the droll brown and woody green of the trees.

He isn't so surprised about the flowers being there in general as much as he is confused as to why they are so concentrated. There hasn't been another sign of flora  so packed together outside of the regular weeds littering the forest floor since he ventured past the first row of trees. He allows his interest to pull him, his feet moving without much thought about how deep he's going. 

The ruffle of leaves overhead draws his attention away from the flowers up ahead and he angles his face to the sky. The leaves shake as two bluebirds take flight, darting through the bushes to wherever their wings wish to bring them. Free to go wherever. As he lowers his eyes, he notices small bulbs hanging just above the top of his head on the trunks of the trees a couple paces further. Pivoting on his heel, he carefully walks backward as he scans the trees he's just past, wondering how he could have missed the lights nearly at eye-level. But those trees, like he thought, are bare.

Frowning, Minhyuk turns again. Sure, he's in the forest of lights but that's simply a name pertaining to the myth that you could see the cosmic forms of the fates roaming through the wood at night. There is no need for physical lighting in a forest that has no visitors. Questioning who would have strung the glass bulbs here -- and why not start at the edge? -- Minhyuk reaches up to brush his fingers against the smooth surface of the next one he passes.

Already so lost in his thoughts, Minhyuk hardly blinks when he reaches the bushes of summersweet and is met with a branching path of stone. The flowers line the edge of the walkway in alternating pinks and white bushes. They're well kept, and now that he's close enough to see the rock-bordered fertilized squares circling the base of the bushes, definitely not native to this forest.

He tries to remember if there is a shrine to the fates here, desperately looking for an explanation to this obvious sign of someone coming out here and entering the forest. Who would come here so often that they would think to put up lights to illuminate the path, would build an actual walkway and plant in decoration, would either be ignorant to or care so little for the unofficial sacredness of the forest. 

Deviating from the dirt path, and realizing belatedly that it doesn't even continue for much longer, Minhyuk walks the stone road. More plots of flowers pop as he goes further. Lily of the valley, sweet alyssum, and more summersweet. He wonders how long this person -- people, perhaps -- has worked on this and if anyone has been in the forest like him to come across it.

In this part of the forest, the sun shines through brighter as the spread of trees becomes less condensed, making way for wide swaths of healthy grass and the flower plots. The fewer amount of trees to block his vision means Minhyuk can easily pick out the house and the explosive rainbow that surrounds it ahead.

"Who...?" He doesn't finish his question, simply blown away by the fact that someone actually lives here.

The stone walkway leads straight to the front door a small one-story cottage. It looks rather ordinary; the exterior walls are a creamy white with a pale, yellow undertone, the roof is layered with burnt tan shingles to match the wooden door and the lining of the windows. But still it has charm in the vines that wind and snake up the left corner, in the small pots of browallia that have replaced the other flowers behind him, in the string of round, glass lights hanging from the branches of the few trees around the cottage.

Dragging his feet up to the front of the house, Minhyuk peeks through the window, its deep navy curtains already parted. He can see some basic furniture and a fireplace, but, compared to what a home should look like, the place is considerably bare. Moving to the door, he knocks once in a quick rhythm of four.

As he waits for an answer, he steps back and admires the home he's come across. Whoever lives here must have an extreme appreciation for landscaping and home-building in order to put this much work in. Minhyuk wants to know who they are. He's never come across such a fairy-tale place as this; if he were anyone else in this country, he would truly believe this place was a dream, a product of and for their spirits.

He knocks again when no one comes to the door and even tries to knob. It doesn't budge, just a bit of give this way and that to signal that it's locked.

"They must not be home," Minhyuk muses to himself. Which is fine. He wouldn't expect someone who lives out here to spend their every waking moment there, not when there is literally nothing around outside the forest. He glances around and smiles. "Then they shouldn't mind me looking."

Backing away from the front door of the cottage, Minhyuk wanders through the front yard, crouching down to get a better look at some of the flower beds when he can't recognize what they are. When he finishes looking there, he rounds the right side of the cottage.

Framed by two slim, young crape myrtle trees carrying beautiful clusters of delicate lavender petals, is a cobble stone walkway that dips down a small hill into an open sea of flowers. It’s an oasis of color in the middle of the drab, green Forest of Lights.

Drifting past the crape myrtles, Minhyuk ventures into the garden, marveling at the arrangement and artistry. Orange hibiscus brush sweetly against red marigolds. Sunflowers bleed into black-eyed susans (that have bloomed earlier than he would have expected) into more sunflowers that look like they were crafted out of pure sunshine, a vibrant yellow that doesn’t look natural but like something out of a child’s picture book.

As he ducks beneath the branches of a kausa dogwood, he plucks a red fruit from its stems. He rolls it between his fingers, grinning at it as if it was something more special than just a berry he can’t eat, and drops it in an empty patch of mulch.

There are zinnias and globe amaranths, delphinium and poppies; there are flowers he didn’t think would be able to thrive in the middle of this kind of wood, one that stretches on for miles and, although not very dense, is not quite drowning in sunlight.

“These aren’t even in season,” Minhyuk mumbles to himself as he stares wide-eyed at a cluster of purple snapdragons that come up to his calf.

He continues along the cobble path mindlessly, almost in a trance, hypnotized by such a piece of work in the last place he’d expect it. Venturing over to the young, hardly five feet tall Japanese maple on the side of the garden that’s a bit shadier than the rest of the carefully cut-out stretch of land, Minhyuk’s heart stops dead in his chest when he passes a few pots of white wax begonia and his eyes fall on a foot up ahead, the pale underside spotted with dirt.

He stumbles back and stares at the foot connected to a slim ankle and a foreleg lightly covered in hair. Swallowing back the fear that he's just discovered a dead body -- "Welcome to the Forest of Lights, where the spirits go to rest," he jokes darkly to himself -- Minhyuk toes forward until he can see around the line of shrubs holding bright pink roses blocking his vision. It's a boy, a man perhaps, lying in the bare soil. His left leg is bent where his grass colored shorts end at his knee. The lean, lightly defined muscle of his stomach is exposed; his shirt, a large tie-dye tee, is bunched up around the bottom of his ribcage.

Minhyuk breathes in a sigh of relief when he sees the stranger's chest rising rhythmically. Moving closer, he steps over the man's haphazardly stretched arm and crouches beside his face.

The man has a pretty face, Minhyuk will admit. His black hair is messily arranged atop his head, some of it falling into his closed eyes lined with thick lashes. His nose is straight and cutely round and his plush, pink lips are parted slightly.

With a face like that, maybe he's a solid form of one of the Fates.

Snorting at the thought, Minhyuk crosses his arm over his knees.

Maybe he's the owner. He looks a little young to own a place like this, although the remote, deserted location may be cheaper than the average city apartment most young adults go for.

"Hey," he calls. Part of him doesn't want to wake the guy who looks like he's having a damned good rest but he also is curious and, at the very least, wants to tell the man how beautiful his creation is.

The man, though, doesn't respond. Not even a twitch or a stuttered breath.

"Hey!" Minhyuk raises his voice. Shifting his weight so he doesn't fall, he places a hand on the man's shoulder and shakes him gently.

The man slips his mouth shut and groans, angling his face away from Minhyuk's direction.

Minhyuk shakes him with a little more force. "How can you sleep like this out here anyway?"

"Steal whatever you want. Just go away," the man slurs, sluggishly pulling his arm into his chest and rolling onto his side.

Eyeing the man strangely, Minhyuk crosses his arms again. "What am I gonna steal? A bouquet of roses?"

"If that's your prerogative," the boy answers. He sounds more awake than a second ago, but he still hasn't opened his eyes. “Although you’re not the rose type.”

Minhyuk raises an eyebrow. "How would you know if I'm the ‘rose type’?"

"Assumption." The boy falls onto his back and stretches his arms over his head, arching into a stretch.

Minhyuk flinches slightly when the boy snaps his eyes open. They're naturally big and his pupils, adjusting to the increased light, are surrounded by a ring of hazel green.

Minhyuk starts to wonder how long they're going to stare at each other, but then the boy blinks slowly and directs his attention to the roses beside his face.

Slender fingers caress the pink petals of one of the plants intimately. "You're looking better already," the boy mumbles, looking at the flower with something like relief.

"So… _you_ planted all this?" Minhyuk asks, torn between feeling uncomfortable and being amazed at the boy's attention to his flowers. He looks around the rows of flowers around them as though he's seeing them for the first time.

"Yes," the boy replies. He withdraws his hand and uses it to push himself up to sit.

Minhyuk waddles back a comfortable distance when he sits up and the proximity between them shortens.

"I’ve put in a lot of effort over the years," he continues. He brushes his hand on the front of his shorts and adjusts his shirt. “Although I never expected anyone else to see it.” He shoots a quick glance at Minhyuk through the messy strands of hair falling into his face before turning his gaze back to the roses.

Laughing awkwardly, Minhyuk watches the boy gather the wilted, fallen pink petals scattered in the dirt. “I was taking a walk when I came across your house.”

The boy closes his eyes and tips his face up to the sun. "So you decided it was okay to just trespass?" The accusation is softened by the amused quirk of his lips and the airy tone of his voice.

Minhyuk winces. "Yeah...But this," Minhyuk waves in a circle in the space between them, “is really beautiful. I don’t even think the garden at the palace is as nice as this.” His words don't sink in until after he's already released them into the air and he eyes the boy warily, hoping that he doesn't recognize him even without his natural hair color.

But if the boy thinks it’s odd Minhyuk is talking about the House’s garden, which has been off-limits to the public since his grandfather was King, he doesn’t say anything about it.

The boy inhales deeply and the vibrancy of the flowers around them seems to pulse with his breath, like he truly gives them life. "Thank you. It’s nice to have a guest, I guess. If anything, I'm sorry you had to see me like this." He cracks his eyes open and glances down at his stained shirt and dirtied feet.

Minhyuk follows his gaze, shaking his head. “I practically walked across the continent to get here so I probably don’t look much better.”

The boy blinks lethargically at him, glancing up and down Minhyuk’s body as if he wasn’t interested in noting what Minhyuk looks like before then. His entire countenance is strange, from the way his lids hang heavily over his eyes to his slow drawl to his muted reactions. Minhyuk tries not to squirm under the attention.

Falling onto his butt when electricity begins to buzz up his shins because of the crouch, Minhyuk crosses his legs in front of him. “You know…” He stops, thinking better of saying what had come to mind.

But the boy presses, waving his hand for Minhyuk to continue.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Minhyuk makes a guttural noise, stalling before he eventually says, “You’re kinda weird.”

At his words, the boy erupts into bright laughter, covering his mouth with the back of his hand so Minhyuk can’t see his smile. Despite his listless demeanor, it’s not a soft sound, almost like a guffaw, and his green eyes crinkle and look like they’re actually shining with delight. It takes Minhyuk by surprise. He had been sure he wouldn't be getting anything out of this boy but tired eyes and slow, molasses words.

The boy's lips curve into a soft, genuine smile. "Well, that’s certainly not the worst thing someone has said about me.”

"I didn't exactly mean it as an insult," Minhyuk says. But, to be honest, he's not sure what he meant by it at all. It’s not that he thinks it’s a bad thing; it’s a little unsettling, but they’re also sitting in the middle of huge garden behind a tiny cottage in the middle of their kingdom’s _sacred forest_. He doesn’t think it’s so far out to say that everything about this a little weird.

Shaking his head, the boy draws his legs into his body and presses his thighs against his chest. He wraps his arms around his bent legs and rests his head on his knees. His big eyes scan over Minhyuk's face. “No, I honestly don’t mind. I used to get a lot of,” he averts his eyes for a second, clicking his tongue, “negativity from people when I was growing up.”

Minhyuk purses his lips together. “Why?”

The boy shrugs. “It’s the shock, I think. From seeing someone who…isn’t a member of the royal family be so…” He waves a hand around arbitrarily but Minhyuk gets it.

Their people strongly believe in the connection between the spirit and flowers and, naturally, as children of Ga-in those with the strongest bond are the royal family. That’s why he thought the boy was weird. Some ordinary citizens keep small, personal gardens but Minhyuk has never seen anything on this level, has never seen anyone _sleep_ in _dirt_ and wake up most concerned about their roses over a complete stranger in their remote backyard.

“Or maybe it’s because I used to be very vocal about my feelings about our darling King and his obvious desire to strip us of our heritage and drive us straight into hell in the name of ‘technological advancement and expansion’, but who knows?”

Blinking, Minhyuk huffs out a laugh that’s more a display of shock than amusement. He didn’t think this boy who cannot be older than he is, with youth still clinging to his cheeks and a number of small pink petal pieces trapped in his wild hair, would openly dissent to the way the kingdom is being run straight to his face. Granted, this boy — like everyone else — has no idea that he’s talking to one of his princes.

His phone chiming and twinkling a sweet song kills the words forming on the back of Minhyuk’s tongue. Dropping his eyes down to his lap, he excuses himself and lifts his hips to slip the device out. He flicks his gaze to the stranger beside him but the boy is no longer looking at him, checking how the other flowers around them are doing.

Glancing at his phone, Minhyuk swipes his finger over the screen and opens the message from his mother asking him if he is out with the kitchen staff and if he would be home before dark. Grimacing, he checks the time. He left some time after noon and it took so long to get to the forest that if he doesn’t leave now, the sun will start to set while he’s walking back.

“My legs still hurt,” he whines to himself, smiling dismissively when the young man across from glances at him with a raised brow. “How do you get around?” he asks, curious about how the other survives out here.

“If you go that way, you’ll hit a road that’ll take you into South Maua that’s shorter than the one that goes east.” The hazel-eyed boy points his dirtied thumb over his shoulder. “But if you’re trying to go to the city, there’s a random intersection about twenty-five, thirty minutes out, right? If you make that right and go straight for fifteen minutes, you’ll find a bus stop for the 149C. It comes every half hour.” The boy smiles lightly and brushes soil off his hands. “Or rather, it should but it’s the last stop on that route and no one ever comes out this far because there’s nothing here so sometimes it’s on time and sometimes it doesn’t come at all.”

Checking the time again, Minhyuk guesses that if he leaves now and doesn’t get lost, he could make it to the bus stop for it to come at the next hour or at least keep going that way and reach civilization faster. He’d rather wait for thirty minutes on the side of the road than walk another two hours. “I think I’ve trespassed on you for long enough.” Standing, Minhyuk looks down at the boy who blinks up at him.

After a couple of seconds, the boy stands as well, limps stretching gracefully like a bud unfurling in the beginning of spring. He’s taller than Minhyuk, by not even the length of his smallest finger. About Hyunwoo’s height.

“By the way…what’s your name?”

The boy’s eyes droop and he looks at Minhyuk from beneath his lashes, visibly unamused by the question. “I’ll tell you the next time we meet. There’s no point in telling you if I never see you again.”

Minhyuk wants to protest, but he gets the idea that nothing will come out of it. “I guess we’ll see what happens.”

The boy nods. “I guess we will."

 ♣

“I think I’m gonna hit up the marketplace soon.” Hoseok’s voice is clear through the speakers of Minhyuk’s phone. “You in?”

Minhyuk grunts out an affirmative. He'll take any opportunity to get out of the house, desperate for something to do other than laze around the royal compound until the next school semester starts in the fall, feeling like absolute shit all the time. He tosses a white handball into the air, laying on his bed on his back with his legs crosses at the ankles and his left arm cushioning his head. It lands cleanly in his open palm and he curls his fingers around it before shooting it into the air again.

"When are you thinking about going?" he asks.

"I don't know. Maybe next week. Mom is going to Aex on business this weekend and I'm trying to get her to let me tag along."

Minhyuk snorts. "For what?"

"Dad is going! Why do I have to stay home while they have all the fun?"

"Your mom is going to be working. And it's not like you live with them anymore, anyway. They're not obligated to take you places just because they birthed you."

Hoseok whines a high-pitched whinny. "You're just bitter your parents never do anything for you."

It's a joke, but even though Hoseok is just playing around, it's still a low-blow because it's true. Being the son of the rulers of the kingdom means there really isn't time for things like extravagant family vacations. Add the fact that Minhyuk wasn't meant to be seen with the other members of the royal family and even accompanying his parents on official trips was out of the question.

"I’m hanging up on you." Minhyuk tosses the ball again. He flicks his wrist a little too hard and the ball curves gently, falling down to bounce near his knee. He strains his eyes down but he can't see it at this angle. "Talking to the prince like that is treason."

"Not when that prince can't even afford to buy his best friend breakfast without expecting compensation. Then I can hurt his feelings all I want. Equality or something like that.

Rolling his eyes, Minhyuk swings his left arm from behind his head and pushes himself up with both hands.

His ball is bold against the jet black of his bed linens, a star in the night sky. He grabs it and he turns it in his hand, tapping his finger rhythmically against the continuous curve. "That’s not how equality works, but okay."

" _Who’s_ the smart one out of the two of us?"

"Me?"

"Absolutely not."

"You’ll have to accept it someday." Minhyuk lets the ball slip out of his hands and it plops down beside his leg. He taps it with his fingers and watches it roll jaggedly toward the edge of the bed and fall to the floor.

"Hey," the end of the call dissolves into a yawn that Minhyuk can hear over the phone. "I’m gonna head to bed soon. But I’ll talk to you later. About the market," Hoseok says.

Minhyuk nods despite the action going unseen. "Yeah. Rest well."

"You too, man."

After they bid each other goodnight, Minhyuk doesn't reach to pick up his phone from where it sits screen-down on the pillow on the opposite side of his bed, letting Hoseok end the call.

He had called Hoseok to talk about his encounter with the boy in the forest, but, for some reason, decided to not say anything about it. Instead they talked about Hoseok picking up his car from the mechanic and Hyunwoo's coronation since Hoseok will probably end up going with his mother.

Although the same age, Hoseok and Hyunwoo never really hit it off. Probably because Hyunwoo is ever the perfect son, doing everything expected of him, and Hoseok, while not irresponsible, prefers a more laid-back and flexible lifestyle. Hoseok thinks Hyunwoo is a manufactured slave to the king's kingdom and Hyunwoo just doesn't think of Hoseok unless he's around.

Minhyuk is largely over it; he had a few days to completely calm down. The distraction of the forest and cottage house and the hazel-eyed boy demoted the issue of the coronation to the very back of his mind. Nothing ever changes, it's just the same things over and over again. It's bad for Minhyuk's temper, but over the years he's learned to let it go faster and faster.

Slipping off the bed, Minhyuk pads softly around his room to his door. Twisting the knob, he pulls the door open and pokes his head out into the hallway. The halls are silent, but that's to be expected after one in the morning.

He draws his arm back, dragging the door open further. He wishes he was tired like Hoseok, like someone should be at this time of night, unable to help yawns crawling up his throat and bursting through the doors of his mouth without a care.

But there's no fatigue lingering behind his eyes, heavy like the weight of full technicolor dreams buffering into his subconscious. He figures he can take a walk around the building, or at least go to the first floor and walk back up to the fourth. Something to tire out his body even just a little bit.

Glancing down at his green and white stripped socks, he wiggles his toes. Normally he wouldn't think to walk around without at least a pair of slippers, but the staff either aren’t here or aren't awake to complain about the bottom of his socks getting dirty.

Minhyuk decides to leave his lights on and the door wide open.

The hall is illuminated by soft-yellow bulbs shining through cloudy, translucent shell shaped covers fixed to the walls. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his ratty grey sweatpants, the ones with the small hole in the knee.

He treks down the hall toward the stairs. He descends down them slowly, dragging on the so-called exercise of going up and down the house. Looping around each wing of the house would be more taxing, would actually tire him out more, but Minhyuk is too lazy to put that much effort in.

Maybe he should drop by the kitchen and make some tea. Tea puts people to sleep, right?

Once he reaches the ground floor, instead of immediately going back up, he walks down the West Wing. He stops in front of the Grand Hall and stares at the big double doors. They've already been draped in gold silks.

"I can't believe he's having his coronation." Minhyuk sneers at the closed doors.

And he gets nothing. Why didn't they just give him up to an orphanage if they never wanted a second son? If they can hide him in plain sight for this long, they could have gotten rid of him without a trace back to them if they wanted. One of the rumors surrounding his delayed introduction is that he actually died as an infant. The people will believe anything if you give them a plausible enough story.

“Stop,” Minhyuk scolds himself, trying not to go too far down the road of helplessness.

Despite himself, he finds himself trying the doors. To his mild surprise, they're unlocked and he heaves them open.

The preparations are still in the beginning stages. Matching silks have started being strung along the ceiling and the chairs have been brought in, sitting in stacks along the far wall. He doesn’t bother walking in, can’t find it in himself to cross the threshold.

Maybe he’s not as over it as he says he is.

He swipes his eyes across the open room again, imagining what the coronation will be like. People crowded everywhere, elites from the neighboring countries mingling over drinks, everyone cheering when Hyunwoo’s crown is placed on his head. It’ll be beautiful. Sighing to himself, Minhyuk shuts the doors to the Grand Hall and ventures back down the hallway. He passes by the stairs again, continuing until he reaches the East Wing.

Something drives Minhyuk to push open the exit that leads to the garden, a quiet murmur in the back of his head telling him to walk through the flora of the House of Petals. It might be nostalgia, the kid inside of him who remembers the calm the garden used to bring him, but he follows the subconscious push even if he knows he's changed, knows the quality of the garden has changed.

The moon is full tonight, voluptuous in all her round beauty. He can't see any stars, the city too close, but he pretends the satellites are clusters of heat and gas spiraling to a tragic death all the same. The small maze of a garden is lit by black posts with white lanterns perched at the very top.

He immediately hears a strange sound, but there shouldn’t be anyone awake.

Minhyuk walks down the first row of lilies and sprouting dandelions and stops before he even gets halfway.

The noise is definitely coming from inside the garden, is definitely a person, is definitely a heartbreaking wail.

Lips tugging down into a frown, Minhyuk chews on his bottom lip. He toes forward lightly, not wanting to yet disrupt the person and distress them further or send them running.

He peeks his head around the huge apple tree just at the same time another sob is released into the air.

His mother is sitting on one of the redwood benches in her lavender night robes, curled into herself.

Taking a step forward, Minhyuk opens his mouth to call out to her but stops when another sob breaks past her lips.

"Ga-in, please tell me I’m doing the right thing," she cries, voice cracking like glass. "Tell me I won’t hurt my boys any more than I already am."

Minhyuk's heart breaks as he watches her cry into the hem of her silk dress. He hadn't thought she was torn over him. He knows she loves him, knows she cares for him. Honestly, he doesn't even feel the same resentment for her as he does his father. She's not completely innocent, but Minhyuk has never thought she was the reason for him being denied a public introduction. He knows she's rooted for him, have asked the council to reconsider their decision to keep him in the dark.

She sniffles, choking on her tears.

Minhyuk takes another step forward. "Mom?"

Surprised, his mother snaps her head up and finds him partially hidden behind the tree. "M-Minhyuk!" She rubs the heel of her palms below her eyes and snorts loudly. "Darling, what are you doing out here?"

"Couldn't sleep," Minhyuk answers low under his breath, his words swept into the night unheard. "What's wrong?" He drops down next to her and rests a comforting hand on her shoulder. With his other hand, he runs his thumb over her cheeks, wiping the tears that have yet to dry salty on her skin.

She sniffles again. "Don't worry yourself. I'm fine." She tries a smile. It's watery around the edges, all wobbling lips.

"How are you fine when you're so distressed that you had to come out here to cry so hard like this?" He blinks. "Is it because of me?"

"No," she quickly denies. She grips Minhyuk's wrists and lowers their hands between them. "Oh, no, darling. It's nothing."

He must still look unconvinced because his mother adds, "I promise. And what is stronger than a mother's promise?"

Frowning, Minhyuk eases his wrists out of the ring of her fingers to properly grasp her hands. "Please tell me if you're feeling down, okay? I don't want to see you like this."

She nods. When she smiles, the cheekiness holds firm. "Who is the parent here?"

"I'll forgive you for anything in a heartbeat. Don't doubt me," he continues, ignoring her attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

Her eyes dim and water in sadness. "I won't." She squeezes his hands. "I won't."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to the 3 people who read this story:  
> 1\. i'm sorry still nothing is happening lmao rip  
> 2\. there's a typo somewhere but i can't find it. let me know if you see it. i know it's out there and it's killing me.  
> 3\. why are you reading this when nothing is happening?  
> 4\. thanks. i love you ♥


	4. i.iv

_Official invitations have gone out for Prince Hyunwoo’s coronation. Mixed reactions on the upcoming crowning of the heir._

 

The palace kitchen is alive with the dinner rush, a cacophony of light chatter and food-making. There's a rhythmic banging that acts as the underlying drum line and the clinking of silverware against stoneware is the sweet, wind-chime melody.

"Your Highness, can you _please_ stop kicking the counter?" Minyoung begs, casting a tired glance over her shoulder. She has a large bowl hugged against her full chest in the hold of her left arm. Her flour-coated right hand mixes the fresh dough for the bread rolls.

Minhyuk crunches the granola in his mouth and lets his foot swing heavily into the front of the black stained counter, banging one last time. He smiles sheepishly around the spoon in his mouth.

"At least his feet aren't _on_ the counter this time," Donghae points out. He steps back away from the stove he's been hovering over for the past couple of minutes to brush the stray strand of chestnut hair that doesn't fit into his high bun behind his ear before continuing to mechanically stir the light chicken-base soup on the front right burner.

His statement brings along a collective groan throughout the rest of the staff as they all think of the times Minhyuk propped his legs up on their precious marble work spaces before he finally got it through his thick head that he can't put his feet anywhere he wants -- even if he's wearing socks that just came out of the laundry.

Pulling the spoon out of his mouth, Minhyuk dips it into his bowl and lets it fill with soy milk and cereal. "All you guys do is complain when I’m here," he complains. "Do you do this to my relatives too?"

Sanghyuk, folding dough into neat crescents to be baked beside him, stretches his neck back far enough to look Minhyuk in the eye. "You're the only one who comes into the kitchen, Your Highness," he says.

"On the rare days that Her Majesty, the Queen comes in, she's asks for what she wants and then leaves us to work in peace," Jungah adds, speedily chopping a carrot into small bits.

Minhyuk sips the milk out of the spoon before eating the cereal. "I'm supervising!" he says, beginning to swing his legs again unconsciously.

"Your Highness!" Several of the staff wail, turning to look at him with a look in their eyes that says they're about to get on their knees and start begging.

Taking a handful of dough from the bowl beside him and throwing it down onto the flour-dusted, plastic mat, Sanghyuk snorts. "You're a nuisance."

Minhyuk swings his legs over and kicks him in the thigh. Sanghyuk playfully glares at him out of the corner of his eye and flicks flour at him to which Minhyuk pretends to throw his cereal in the young cook's face.

The door to the kitchen opens and Jea walks in. She looks unsurprised to see Minhyuk among the madness when she rounds the center island to reach the middle of the three refrigerators. "You're finally awake, Your Highness?"

Nodding, Minhyuk crunches the granola. He woke up later than usual today -- not that he gets up early on his own during the summer months -- and missed the breakfast and lunch servings. Instead of asking for food to be sent up to his room, he likes to come down and get it himself. He favors the kitchen staff more than the cleaning staff; they're a friendly bunch, free in their element, and they don't get as weird as the cleaning staff or security about being less formal around him. He knows he's annoying, but he also knows that most of the time they're exaggerating their exasperation with his presence.

Jea peels open the refrigerator door and pulls out a bottle of red wine.

"Who is drinking when it’s hardly midday?" Minhyuk asks.

Donghae leaves his soup in order to fetch two pristine glasses while Jea places the wine on a free space of the long counter lining the refrigerator to get the serving tray and the ice bucket.

"It appears His Majesty, the King is entertaining guests."

Minhyuk purses his lips thoughtfully. “Do you know who?” he questions and Jea shakes her head.

He frowns but refrains from commenting. Fishing out the last of his soggy clusters of granola and dried fruit, Minhyuk finishes his cereal and guzzles the remaining milk in his bowl. He hops off the counter, careful not to bump into Sanghyuk on the way down.

He walks to the sink and drops his bowl and spoon inside the basil. Flicking on the tap, he reaches for the dishwashing liquid and sponge as Jea steps up beside him.

“Do you have any plans today, Your Highness?”

Minhyuk hands her the spoon to dry. “I’m going to meet up with Hoseok. And before that I should check on the…”

The garden. The Forest.

He hasn’t returned to the Forest of Lights since that strange afternoon when he met the boy who refused to give Minhyuk his name. With each day that passes by as usual with no sign that anyone knows about the hazel-eyed boy, Minhyuk grows ever more curious, thoughts of the man and his little cottage house and his beautiful garden and his mysteriousness running endlessly through Minhyuk’s mind.

The boy said he would tell Minhyuk his name when they met again, but Minhyuk doesn’t know if that means he wants Minhyuk to come to him or if it should be left to chance. An ‘if they’re supposed to see each other again, the universe will make it happen’ sort of thing.

And then there’s his mother. She was always prone to solitary walks around the compound but then he walked in on her sobbing in the middle of night in the garden. And she keeps promising him everything will be alright with conflicting confidence and debilitating fear. What is he supposed to do about that?

“Prince Minhyuk?”

Dropping the bowl and rinsing his hands of suds, Minhyuk whirls around. “Do you have a skinny glass?” He asks. Next to the door leading to the pantry are a row of windows and he rushes over to them, turning the latch and heaving one open.

Along the edge of the house are bushes of lilacs. Pushing up the mesh screen, he leans out the window.

“Prince Minhyuk, what are you doing?” calls Minyoung.

He carefully snaps off a short stem and slips back into the kitchen, shutting the screen and the window behind him. He turns around to see half of the staff staring at him with strange expressions.

“I’m not paying you to stand around and look at me weird,” he says, grinning.

“ _You’re_ not paying us at all,” Sanghyuk yells from the back.

Donghae and Minyoung laugh at their banter. Jungah leaves her cutting board to go the glass cabinet where they keep the party glasses, calling Minhyuk over.

“What shape are you looking for?” She asks.

Scanning his eyes over the selection, Minhyuk takes a tall champagne flute from the bottom shelf. No one questions him further when he fills the glass a third of the way with water and drops the lilacs inside.

“Would you mind bringing this to my mother when you serve dinner?” He holds up the flute, adjusting how the flowers rest in the glass.

The faces of the staff soften at his request.

Jea walks over to take the glass from him. “Gladly, Your Highness.”

 ♣

“Minhyuk.”

Despite hearing the call, Minhyuk doesn’t bother to turn his head, hardly slowing down. He listens to the clack of Hyunwoo’s shoes as he approaches.

“You’re up late,” Hyunwoo continues, undeterred by the lack of response.

Scratching at the inside of his wrist with his free hand, Minhyuk sighs. If there’s anything positive to say about his brother, it’s that he’s persistent. “Can you not talk to me? Unless you’re trying to make small talk, I don’t want to hear it.”

He forces himself not to groan when Hyunwoo continues to follow him.

“Oh, are you in one of your moods?”

Minhyuk falters in his step, fingers twitching when he stops himself from curling them into a fist. Shaking his head, he continues on, suddenly hating the distance between the kitchens and his quarters. He doesn’t bother to point out that he’s not ‘in one of his moods’, that he just isn’t interested in anything that Hyunwoo has to say because these days Hyunwoo only talks about politics and their image and how Minhyuk’s subversion of that image isn’t doing their family any favors.

Hyunwoo quickens his pace until they’re walking in line with each other. “Are you really not going to say anything?”

“Will it get you to leave faster?” Minhyuk casts a sidelong glance at his brother as he starts up the stairs.

Hyunwoo heaves a sigh of his own. “You haven’t been eating dinner with us in the main hall since the thing with Hyunjung,” he says, choosing to ignore the request for him to go.

 _Seola_ , Minhyuk corrects in his head. “Sorry that I’m not keen on talking about my day with the people who only acknowledge my existence when it’s convenient for them.”

“Minhyuk, that’s not fair. I know you’re upset—”

Minhyuk stops short on the landing cutting the staircase in half between the first and second floor. He turns to his brother and scoffs. “Upset? Why do you think I’m upset? In the span of about a week and a half, I found out that we would be holding your coronation on the _internet;_ had a blind date with some woman and when it obviously didn’t end in us falling head over heels with each other, I was somehow in the wrong and trying to cause discord; and then today the invitations for your coronation go out and guess who isn’t invited. Guess who isn’t invited to _anything._

“I stopped eating in the hall not because I’m upset, but because I’m _furious_ and I don’t have the patience to pretend like the word ‘family’ means anything to anyone other than mom.”

He doesn’t hate Hyunwoo. He doesn’t. But when Hyunwoo crosses his arms over his chest, looks at Minhyuk with disappointment, and says 'you always get like this. They're not going to want to introduce you when you pull these disappearing acts whenever things are hard for you,' Minhyuk feels something pretty close.

Purposefully knocking his shoulders against Hyunwoo's arm when he brushes past him, Minhyuk tries his best not to stomp the rest of the way up the stairs to the second floor.

"My utmost apologies, Your Highness. Sometimes I forget I'm supposed to accept all of the crap I get for absolutely no reason at all," Minhyuk stops in the middle of the staircase and whirls around to bow dramatically at his brother.

By the annoyed roll of his eyes, Hyunwoo doesn't seem to be too amused by his sarcasm -- which is great, because Minhyuk isn’t trying to be funny.

"Minhyuk," he says, sighing in exasperation.

"I’m sure you have more princely duties to tend to, Your Highness."

When Minhyuk turns his back and continues up to the second floor, they both know that the conversation is over. Hyunwoo doesn't follow him up, but he also doesn’t immediately go back down. Phantasm echoes of Minhyuk’s words linger in the air. He can’t even enjoy the silence.

Hyunwoo sighs long through his nose and his shoes scratch along the flooring. "Just...join us for dinner next time. I know things are hard for you, but you'll only hurt yourself and the family like this," he pleads finally.

Minhyuk doesn't stop to acknowledge him, needing to get away. Briefly, he wonders if he _is_ the one hurting their family. He wonders if it's the attitude like Hyunwoo and their father think it is, if he needs to be a little more patient like his mother thinks. He wonders if it's because he looks nothing like them, a tan, blond-haired outlier, and there's something wrong with that.

♣

"Do you think Jihyun will like this?" Hoseok holds up a handmade necklace, an intricate gold wire star hanging from a silver chain.

Minhyuk looks away from a pair of black ball stud earrings and at the jewelry his friend is holding. He raises an eyebrow and scoffs, turning back to the earrings with a smirk on his lips. "She'll like anything you buy. You know that."

Hoseok blushes lightly. "I'm pretty sure she thinks I'm a piece of shit," he says and looks at the necklace. He fingers the chain tenderly, probably thinking about Jihyun. The granddaughter of one of the advisers from when Minhyuk’s own grandparents were alive and running the kingdom.

"Well, she wouldn't be wrong." Minhyuk barks out a laugh when Hoseok roughly shoves him. "Seriously, though. Why haven't you told her how you feel yet? You two have been dancing around each other forever."

"Because I'm insecure?" Hoseok lilts his voice at the end of the question, sounding like he thinks what he's saying should be obvious.

Minhyuk snorts. "Since when?"

"Since right now?"

Rolling his eyes, Minhyuk snatches the necklace from Hoseok's loose grip, careful not to be too rough with it. He holds it up to his face and watches the star rotate from side to side. He purses his lips. "You did always come off as the hopeless romantic type. I'm surprised you're going for a star and not a heart." He looks up at Hoseok and wiggles his brows. "Or a pink rose even."

Hoseok takes the necklace back and sets it on the table dressed in a pretty, soft green cloth. "Shut up," he hisses but there's very little heat to it. All of the heat has gone to his red ears. He scans his eyes over the assortment of crafts.

Minhyuk watches his eyes flit back and forth over the table and smiles. This isn't the first time he's seen Hoseok get shy about someone, but it never fails to amuse Minhyuk. After nearly seven years of friendship, Minhyuk has seen every side there is to see of the older man. But most often than not he sees the side of Hoseok that's lazy and selfish and cheap and loud. Hoseok has always been soft, always will be, but all of that other stuff blocks it out.

He points at a necklace with a transparent sphere, fake, pink petals inside. "How about that one?"

Hoseok follow his finger and picks up the necklace.

"Those aren't rose petals, so if you don't want to make that leap you don't have to. But it's still pretty and has a lot more—" Minhyuk waves his hand around as he searches for the correct word, his mind coming up blank, "—I don't know, feeling than the star."

"I never said I was going for feelings," Hoseok says, but he looks like he's contemplating it. “Or that I was committing to buying her something. Although I probably should since her birthday is coming up.”

A sudden, loud peal of laughter catches Minhyuk’s attention and he reflexively searches for the source of it. He scans his eyes across the open market, getting a glimpse of stall keepers making sales, children running about, people haggling for discounts. His gaze stops on the young middle aged woman who sells sweet bread; she has a bright smile on her face, standing on her toes as she tries to pinch the cheeks of a man who at least a head and a half taller than her. They’re standing at an angle from Minhyuk’s vantage point, the man’s back mostly facing his direction, but in the next second he turns around and Minhyuk gets a look at a face he was starting to convince himself that he dreamed up.

The guy from the forest.

Just across the bazaar, with a chunk of sweet bread wrapped in a paper sleeve in his hand.

It’s amazing to watch him drift between the stalls. Everyone lights up when they see him, waving him over with grand smiles, and some even open their arms for warm hugs. The boy said he had a rough time growing up, but looking at such camaraderie between him and some of the stall-keepers here, Minhyuk’s not sure if he believes him.

Minhyuk doesn’t know when he started to move but suddenly he’s walking toward the tall boy, following him down the row of shops until the other unknowingly leads them to a maze of stands and crates showcasing assorted flowers in stunning bouquets.

Just like everyone else, the owner of the stall — a gentle man of middle age with a bit of a hunch left to take care of his late wife’s business — welcomes the tall enigma in with open arms and a hearty laugh.

“You were just here last week! Where are you planting these seeds, boy?”

The boy smiles lightly. “I’m not here for seeds today, Mr. Park,” he says, patting the man on the back comfortingly and then slipping out of the hug, careful of his sweet bread. “I only wanted a single stem.”

Mr. Park nods. “You know you can choose anything you’d like.” As he makes to wave at his selection, he makes eye contact with Minhyuk who freezes like he just robbed the treasury and the police caught him with bags of silver in his hands. “Best of days to you, son.”

"A-Ah." Minhyuk slides his gaze over to the boy just as he turns around to see who the shop owner is talking to. He can see his eyes light up in recognition but the boy takes him by surprise and, instead of greeting him, walks away to browse the selection of flowers without another word.

Glancing at Mr. Park, he nods. He tries a smile but he's too confused over being flat out ignored that it comes out twitchy. "Best of days to you, sir."

"Can I help you with anything?" He asks, shuffling over to Minhyuk who quickly shakes his head.

"I'm only looking. Thank you."

Mr. Park smiles at him, reminds him to just call if he needs assistance, and returns to where he was arranging a bouquet of daffodils and baby's breath.

Not wanting to seem weird, or weirder than he already appears, Minhyuk wanders down the aisle two across from the one the boy is currently in. The flowers are beautiful, well-kept, but he hardly pays them mind as he wanders through the small stall. It isn't until he rounds the corner of a shelf holding purple gladiolus that he runs into the boy coming from the opposite direction.

He really thought he would never see him again. Unless he went back to the forest, that is. But even then, his imagination had started to run over the past couple days, spinning stories of the Fates and fairies and nymphs, each more ridiculous that the last. But they were the only way to explain the hazel eyed boy full of mystery with a garden from the Heavens who refused to give Minhyuk anything to identify him with.

The boy blinks big, almost buggish eyes at him. His face is as passive as ever, lips pressed together in neither a smile nor a frown. He's not covered in dirt; instead, he's dressed in a loose long sleeved striped checkered shirt and a pair of plain denim jeans.

Minhyuk frowns, quirking a brow. "Why are you barefoot?" He knows most of the roads in South Maua are dirt but that doesn’t make them safe for forgoing shoes.

The boy makes a small, amused noise. He takes a small bite out of his sweet bread, the paper sleeve crinkling in his grip. Looking Minhyuk up and down, he squeezes past him to continue down the aisle. "Following me around, are you?" he asks, voice slightly muffled on account of his occupied mouth.

Following after him, Minhyuk slips his hands into his pockets. "How do you know I'm not from here?"

With the grace of a professional dancer, the boy spins on his heel and fixes him with an even, knowing look before turning back. The look makes Minhyuk's skin prickle, anxiety poking at his nerves when he realizes what he just said and the fact that his face mask is currently hanging at his chin. He had pulled it down earlier because breathing in his own breath was getting unbearable in the light summer warmth and never remembered to situate it back where it's supposed to be. But even if this boy did recognize him from the newspaper or the tabloids, even with his hair dyed black, he doesn't seem like the type to ask questions. Or reveal to Minhyuk that he knows, for that matter.

"Anyone could look at you and see that you're a city boy," the boy answers.

Making a noise of offense, Minhyuk glances down at himself. An (admittedly too small) white tee, plain black joggers with a white stripe on the outside of the left leg, and a pair of red, slip-on canvas shoes that have honestly seen better days. Not all that extravagant for someone from the city, even less so for someone of his standing. “You don’t look that different from me.”

The boy stops in front a line of carnations. "It's in the way you carry yourself, not the way you look," he explains, staring down at the flowers.

Minhyuk is sure the heat is getting to him because when the boy bends over to smell the flowers, it looks like their petals open up a little bit more as if making themselves more beautiful, more appealing. He marvels at the look of absolute calm on the boy's face as he sticks out a finger and gently touches the petals of a white carnation. It's like he has entered his own world of just him and these plants. This kid truly is weird, but Minhyuk finds it fascinating.

"Will you spend the day with me?"

Jumping at the interruption of the short silence that had settled, Minhyuk stares at the boy's profile. He would gladly spend the day with him, just to dissect him, if only he didn't abandon Hoseok back at that jewelry stall.

"You're so pretty," coos the boy.

Confusion engulfs Minhyuk at the sudden compliment. "Uh, what?" He never thought of himself as pretty.

The boy plucks out the carnation he had been petting with a soft smile and holds it with pinched fingers.

Oh. He was talking to the flower.

Clearing his throat as if that'll rid him of the awkwardness only he feels, Minhyuk shakes his head and waves the boy off when he turns to look at him with wide eyes and a curiously raised brow. He should probably stop talking if he doesn't want to embarrass himself any further.

The boy gives him another one of those looks, the one that feels like he knows everything Minhyuk is thinking, before holding the flower out. "Can you hold this for a second?"

"Yeah, sure." Minhyuk takes the flower and lifts it to his nose. He knows it’s just his imagination making him think the flower drooped as soon as it left Hyungwon’s grip but he feels slighted nonetheless.

Smiling gratefully, the boy continues down the aisle, still showering the flowers with attention.

"I thought you were only looking for one," Minhyuk says, wondering what else the boy is looking for since he seemed to find what he wanted it.

"I was. But I figured you weren't following me for nothing so I’m giving you more time."

"I wasn't following you," Minhyuk protests. A blush covers his cheeks at the repeated accusation.

The boy hums like he doesn’t believe what just came out of Minhyuk’s mouth and trails over to the sunflowers. This time, he easily picks out a flower, choosing the one of the most vibrant yellow. “I didn’t think you would remember me,” he says, facing Minhyuk and asking for the carnation back.

Minhyuk doesn’t know why. It would be pretty hard to forget someone like the other man. “For a moment, I thought someone drugged me and I hallucinated everything.”

The boy’s lips quirk into a small smile. “It’s plausible.” He motions to the stall’s entrance where Mr. Park is still arranging bouquets. “I’m Hyungwon, by the way. Since I owe you my name.”

Surprised the boy gave him his name so easily, after expecting more evasive promises and conditions, Minhyuk blinks stupidly. The name isn’t anything special but it does fit his face, Minhyuk supposes. Flower Boy Hyungwon.

Hyungwon calls out to Mr. Park and holds up the carnation and the sunflower. “Can I trim the stem on these?” he asks, tapping his finger along the stem three inches from the top. “And get a cut of wire about double the length?”

Mr. Park puts his bouquet aside and holds out his hand for the flowers. As the shop owner carefully cuts the stem, with his hand now free, Hyungwon digs through his pockets and draws out a handful of silver coins. He drops a couple of them on the corner of the workstation, counting quietly under his breath, and then pockets the rest.

“You come here so often, I’m starting to feel bad taking your money.” Mr. Park laughs, drawing away from the table to retrieve the wire from a set of crates filled to the brim with wire, cards, wrapping paper, and everything else that someone may need to go into their floral arrangement.

Hyungwon eats enough of his bread down that he can sit it on the edge of the table and not have any of it poke out of the sleeve. He grabs the flowers, pressing them together, and when Mr. Park returns with the snipped wire, he winds the wire around the stems, binding them together. Once he’s done, he tucks the twined flowers behind his ear, turning to Minhyuk as he tries to make sure they’re still and snug against his face.

“What do you think?”

Minhyuk opens his mouth to speak but at that moment his phone rings. Snapping his mouth shut, he takes out his phone and answers the call from Hoseok. “I can explain.”

There’s silence, just the muted sounds of the market in the background and then, “I’m listening.”

Minhyuk hears Hyungwon giggling and he peeks at the other man from under his lashes. He mouths, _what?_ , but Hyungwon just shakes his head and looks away, pretending to be more interested in his sweet bread.

“There was, uh, something I suddenly remembered mom wanted me to buy. Sorry?”

Hoseok tells him to meet him at the candle booth before he chirps out a goodbye but it’s filled with enough threat that Minhyuk knows he should go to meet him soon.

“You lied,” Hyungwon says after Minhyuk pockets the phone. “Why?”

“I panicked,” Minhyuk lies again. It’s partially true but, truthfully, he wants to keep the mystery of this boy to himself.

Hyungwon nods, humming to himself. He finishes off his bread, passing his thumb over his lips to brush off stray crumbs. Then, he says, “Come visit me this weekend.”

Caught off guard, ten seconds pass before a light smirk crosses Minhyuk’s face. “What if I don’t want to?”

Immune to his teasing — or maybe just more skilled than Minhyuk, Hyungwon continues with a smile of his own. “Saturday is best.” He bids Mr. Park goodbye, promising to return soon and waltzes out of the stall.

And Minhyuk can only stare at his back, suddenly glad he never has anything to do, leaving his days free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll put out a chapter that's less than 4000, i promise


	5. i.v

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i thought the first chapter was the worst out of this entire story but i was wrong, it's this one. but it's (just barely) less than 4000 words so yay!! for that i guess
> 
> did i say this story would get better? i probably lied

With the arrival of the weekend, comes the first heat wave of the year and any bit of content that Minhyuk had been feeling with his life going up in flames, exploding like fireworks on the other side of the river but considerably less enjoyable. It all happened so quick, like a camera flash, like _the_ camera flash that started it. Minhyuk doesn't even remember having his picture taken, doesn't remember seeing anyone who looked like the typical pap in these past couple of days, but there's no denying that it's him on the cover of _five_ different tabloids. In two different pictures. The first is an unassuming picture of him entering the royal compound -- just one of many and after the millionth debate about him being a staff member who never showed up in uniform, they haven't appeared in the media. But then the other is a picture from after he and Hoseok returned to the city from the market, of Hoseok's car stopped at a traffic signal, Minhyuk's image clear in the passenger seat. And that, too, would be something that could be explained if not for the accompanying article questioning how an advisor's son would get so close to a staff member of the House and analyzing why Minhyuk's schedule as an 'alleged dining services employee' was so vastly different from the others and why he was often not seen with the rest of the kitchen staff on their infrequent grocery runs.

And now the debate has returned with new vigor.

"I suggest that Minhyuk be confined to the House of Petals until the scandal has blown over," one of the advisors announces over the low din of argumentative chatter. Minhyuk can't tell who it is, their voices all start to sound the same after a while, but he doesn't look away from the cheap magazines scattered in the middle of the conference table to see.

Advisor Shin immediately rises to her feet, back stiff with tension. "Absolutely not! Keeping him locked up isn't going to solve anything."

"Do you not feel any kind of responsibility Mrs. Shin? After all, it was your son he was seen with. As you are a top member of the council, surely your son knows that he is easily recognizable by the public and surely you would take efforts to know that he prevents things like this from happening."

"This isn't the first time this has happened. The people talk a little bit and then they forget all about it. This fight is unnecessary, Mr. Chan," Mr. Noh adds. He's a mostly neutral party, but still Minhyuk is surprised about any kind of support coming from anyone other than his friends' parents on this.

Another voice joins the mix. "There are features on reputable online news sources contemplating his status as the second prince. We cannot have this drama lingering as the coronation approaches. There will be questions."

Finally, Minhyuk glances up and watches the verbal war with a blank stare. There's no point in arguing for his freedom. They won't take what he says or his comfort into account. And it's not like it matters. As was said, the coronation is happening soon. He can be forced to stay in the House, but the house arrest will have to end before the event unless they'll up the conditions to him staying in his room for the days where guests will be staying at the House.

"Enough!" The Queen's voice slashes through the noise as she stands herself.

The Advisors go silent as if their own voices were stolen straight from their mouths and duck their heads. Minhyuk keeps his chin up, raises it further in a display of strength, and gazes hard at his mother who frowns at him with sympathy. His eyes flicker between her and his father who is leaning over the table with his hands linked and his chin resting on the back of his knuckles.

He would look largely uninterested in the situation at hand if a stranger was looking at him but Minhyuk can see the wildfire in his eyes. He almost rolls his own. He'll surely be called in to be lectured later.

Hyunwoo, sitting directly across from him with steel in his gaze and a frown tugging down his full lips, looks over at their parents as well. Minhyuk doesn't even know why he's here; his brother has nothing to do with his problems. He doesn't want the Golden Boy putting in a vote for if he gets shut in his metaphorical castle tower, not when it's just going to be according to whatever the majority of the council and his father want.

"Until when will you continue to demonise your prince in this manner? I will not stand for you demanding I restrict him to the House over this foolishness."

"If I may, Your Majesty, we agreed that Minhyuk is not ready to be exposed to the public. Before, we could pass pictures like these off as petty rumors but now journalists are beginning to get more specific in their reasoning for questioning his status. Either we have to get his story straight and have him assimilate fully into passing as the help or we must tighten his leash."

Minhyuk doesn't realize he has scoffed until multiple heads turn his way. He locks eyes with Hyunwoo who shakes his head minutely as if knowing what is on the tip of Minhyuk's tongue and begging him to stop before he has begun. Unfortunately, Minhyuk hasn't listened to Hyunwoo since he was a teen, sensitive and rebellious and a lot angrier than he is now.

"I didn’t realize I was a pet to be kept," he comments lightly. He leans back in his chair, rocking back on two legs.

"Minhyuk, darling," his mother starts, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder.

It’s the same every time. Advisors Shin, Im, and Noh — if he’s feeling particularly charitable today — will vouch for him and everyone else will avoid looking at him while deciding against him. His mother will get herself all worked up trying to defend him but will eventually crumble under pressure. His father will continue to treat him like he’s nothing and Hyunwoo will continue to be complicit even though he knows this is wrong and then try to play the caring big brother card later.

"Oh, don't let me stop you. It's not like you're talking about my freedom of movement," he finishes sarcastically, letting his eyes slip shut.

His shutters are closed, defensive mask up, and he crosses his arms over his chest seemingly unaffected. But his heart pounds in his chest, the beats thundering in his ears like the lightning from the clouds over his head will strike by his feet. Sweat accumulates on his palms but he doesn't break form to wipe them.

Sighing as if she has the weight of this world and the next on her shoulders, his mother removes her hand from his shoulder.

"He doesn't deserve this. You all know he doesn't deserve this," she says sadly.

"There's already going to be backlash if he is introduced, the people cannot find out on their own. It'll cause mistrust."

“This is why Advisor Shin and I asked for him to be introduced beforehand. We could have kept him out of the more serious business or at least had him educated on royal matters. Now no matter what, there will always be a sense of betrayal,” Advisor Im laments to Advisor Shin’s agreement.

Someone groans, frustrated, and then there’s a call for order.

“We will address the public as necessary later. Let us proceed with the meeting,” Advisor Ahn attempts to regain control. “Are there any other suggestions regarding the issue of these tabloids?” His voice is stern, insinuating he will not take further arguing from anyone on the previous suggestion.

But what else is there to do? They simply cannot ignore the pictures as they have done in the past, not when the citizens are starting to put more logical thought into their speculations about who Minhyuk is. His family and the Council have ignored and denied so many times that soon the people will stop believing those half-assed excuses.

Part of Minhyuk feels a bit of schadenfreude at their scrambling for an idea. Even if he is to stay on the premises, they still have to stop the think pieces from being published and censoring them will only fuel suspicions. He knows this won’t be the moment in which things suddenly swing in his favor but it is a sign that _something_ has to change.

And Minhyuk wants them to regret the way they’ve treated him all this while.

  

The Forest of Lights is beautiful under the shadow of night, the moon passing between the full, leafy tops of the trees and shining down on the forest floor. Hyungwon's strung bulb lights shine brighter than Minhyuk thought they would on first glance, lighting his way through thick trunks and the unmarked path on the edge of the forest. Even more beautiful than the bulbs are the hundred of soft yellow dots drifting through the air. He's never seen so many fireflies at once and it's like he's walking through space, watching constellations dance and shift into spinning galaxies. This must be where the Forest gets its name from, as well as the myth of being able to see the spirits. Minhyuk doesn't blame anyone who would think such a sight to be a work of the Fates.

He chews on his lip nervously as he travels deeper into the forest, cutting through the stars and allowing the lights to guide his way. It's late. The sun crossed over the horizon nearly two hours ago but Minhyuk couldn't find a better time to sneak out. Although it had just been decided that morning, the rule that Minhyuk isn't allowed out of the royal compound traveled quick throughout the House and anytime he left his room, he'd get strange, suspicious looks from the staff who were all on their toes as if he would run for it at any time. But Minhyuk didn't want to stand Hyungwon up and potentially kill his acquaintanceship with the other boy this early. All day after the meeting he looked for an out but there was always someone lingering in the halls. He could have called on the help of the kitchen staff but doing so would put them in a weird spot if it was found out they helped him escape. It took waiting until the day staff clocked out for the halls to empty and give Minhyuk enough time to stealthily maneuver out of the house and down the hill to the graveyard where, thankfully, only one guard was stationed. He cursed the distance to the Forest the entire bus ride through the city to that small, forgotten stop hidden in the suburbs.

When he reaches the stone pathway that'll take him to Hyungwon's cottage, he speeds up in to a fast walk just short of a jog. What if Hyungwon is confused as to why he hasn't shown up yet? What if Hyungwon doesn't even care? That seems possible; the boy has, while treating Minhyuk with his own kind of politeness, also been somewhat distant. The lights are on in the cottage, illuminating the closed curtains in the tiny front window.

Minhyuk pauses to catch his breath before lifting his hand to knock thrice. He rocks back on his heels, wondering about what Hyungwon is going to say and preemptively calculating how long he can stay before he has to sneak back onto the royal grounds. His attention is drawn to the window when the curtains ruffle and are pulled back. Hyungwon peeks his head through the gap, eyebrow raised and mouth twisted in his confusion. That expression melts off his face when he locks eyes with Minhyuk and the prince smiles sheepishly, waving slightly.

As expected, Hyungwon doesn't wave back and Minhyuk drops his hand when the curtains fall shut again. Seconds later, he hears the lock turn and then the door is pulled open.

Hyungwon stands in the doorway looking sleep-ruffled. His pale green t-shirt is a wrinkled mess and his grey knee-length cotton pants have ridden up his left thigh.

"Hi?" Minhyuk cracks an awkward smile.

Hyungwon's mouth dips down into a small frown before straightening out. "I didn't think you would come," he says, voice just as soft and molasses slow as the day they met. Sniffling, he steps back and allows Minhyuk in.

Minhyuk isn't surprised to find out that the cabin smells like jasmine and vanilla. It's more spacious on the inside than he thought it would be. The door opens into the main living area consisting of a sitting area and a small kitchen. A light brown wood-frame couch with light blue cushions sits in front of a small coffee table of the same brown. Laid into the far wall is a rustic fireplace. The kitchen is nothing more than a long counter broken in half by a deep sink and a gas stove. A tiny refrigerator matching the height of Minhyuk's waist sits on the floor at the right end of the counter. A short set of stairs leads up into a loft that's lined with a fence. From where he stands, Minhyuk can't see what's up there or what is down the hallway extending from the side of the room where the kitchen is.

The lack of appliances and electronics make the cabin look unfurnished, but the assortment of pastel throw blankets and fluffy square pillows and scattered flowers and candles give off a warm, spring feeling.

"Sorry. I know it’s late but there was… trouble at home and I couldn’t leave any earlier." he explains once he’s finished looking over the cabin, glancing at Hyungwon who stares back at him as he tugs at a wild strand of his hair.

“You didn’t have to come if you had obligations,” Hyungwon says, sighing when his hair doesn’t fall into place.

Minhyuk shakes his head. “I didn’t want to be there anyway. Too much family drama, you know?”

When Hyungwon doesn't immediately respond, staring into space and chewing on his bottom lip, a frown pulls at Minhyuk's lips. But before he has a chance to question the boy's weird introspective expression, Hyungwon spins on his heel.

"Not really, no, but I can imagine," he says, walking the short distance to the kitchen and opening the cabinet above the sink.

Unsure of if he should make himself at home or not, Minhyuk follows on his heels. Questions fill his head at Hyungwon's answer as he once again begins to think of this house deep in the Forest of Lights. Now that he does so, he wonders where Hyungwon's family is and why (and how) they have allowed him to live here of all places, out of the way and cut off from everything.

From the cabinet, Hyungwon retrieves two long, plastic spray bottles. He sets them down on the counter and twists the knobs on the sink to let the tap water flow. "Since you're here, would you mind helping me water my flowers? The sun has been strong lately and I can tell they're uncomfortable," he says, glancing over his shoulder at Minhyuk as he checks the temperature of the water.

Agreeing, Minhyuk approaches the lanky boy and picks up one of the bottles. He unscrews the nozzle off and hands it to Hyungwon who takes it with a light, fatigued smile. "Are you tired?" he asks, concerned. "You could have told me to leave.”

Hyungwon shoves the bottle under the tap. He shakes his head. "It's the heat. It makes me wilt but I'm fine."

Minhyuk smiles, amused, at Hyungwon's choice of wording; it's as if the boy considers himself to be one with his flowers, sensitive to the strong rays of the sun as the heat wave passes.

When the bottle fills up to the limit line embossed into the neck, Hyungwon passes it back to Minhyuk who screws the nozzle back on. He tests it to make sure it still works, aiming it at Hyungwon and pressing down on the trigger in quick succession. Soft spritzes of water fly from the nozzle, catching on the sleeve of Hyungwon's shirt and wetting the pale skin of his upper arm. Hand curled loosely around the second bottle, Hyungwon slowly turns his head to look at Minhyuk, his round eyes blinking lethargically in his own display of bewilderment.

Minhyuk grins cheekily and sprays him again, this time aiming at his soft cheek. "You said you were hot."

Hyungwon arches a thick eyebrow. He exhales a short laugh and wipes the drops of water off his face with his shoulder. He opens and closes his mouth like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. Shaking his head, Hyungwon takes off the nozzle to the bottle in his hands and places it under the running tap.

Far from bothered, Minhyuk leans against the counter and watches the water steadily rise through the plastic. “Do you like living here?

"In the middle of the sacred forest with no one to talk to and no accessible means of transportation?" Hyungwon picks up the nozzle, turning it around in his hands. "No. To be honest, most days I stay with a friend. This house is a constant reminder of something I try not to think about too often and really the only thing that keeps me here is the space for my garden." He purses his lips, almost scowling at the bottle in the sink as it threatens to overflow.

Reaching across him, Minhyuk turns the handles of the tap, cutting off the water. He frowns worriedly, wondering if he stumbled across a land mine just by asking a question he thought wasn't too invasive. But this is the most expressive Hyungwon has ever been and Minhyuk likes to think that although this is but their third time meeting, that they were reaching a level of friendly comfort with one another.

"A friend?" Minhyuk asks, unsure if he's pushing the boundaries of their current relationship. "What about your parents?"

Hyungwon heaves a tired sigh and finally stops fumbling. He replaces the cap in his hands on the second bottle and lifts it out of the sink. "I'm an orphan," he explains, glancing up at Minhyuk as if to gauge his reaction. "My parents gave me away when I was a toddler.”

Minhyuk grimaces at himself. He stands straight and scratches at the back of his neck uncomfortably. "I'm sorry for asking."

Shaking his head, Hyungwon smiles lightly with his lips still pressed together. It's rather emotionless, not faking happiness but not showing it either. "Don't be. I'm not ashamed."

Perhaps not, but to Minhyuk, he doesn't seem very accepting of it either. Desperately wanting to get rid of the weird atmosphere, Minhyuk sprays Hyungwon’s sleeve again.

They stare at each other for a moment and then Hyungwon's spraying him back in the face, right in the center of his forehead.

"Stop wasting my water," he says in a way that makes Minhyuk feel like a scolded puppy caught digging in the yard.

“Sorry.”

 

"What made you want to grow all of this?" Minhyuk asks as he mists the sunflowers. They were drooping quite a bit, the heat wave proving to be a little too much for them.

At night the garden is absolutely beautiful. The tall lanterns erect cast a soft, white light over the yard and the fireflies buzzed around in pretty clusters. The sight made Minhyuk’s breath catch when they walked around the side of the cabin and Hyungwon had given him this pretty smile that said he understood the awe Minhyuk felt.

"I can't explain it. But let's just say I have an intense personal need to be around nature," Hyungwon answers from where he's watering another section of flowers behind him.

Minhyuk makes a noise of understanding although Hyungwon's words didn't explain anything at all. It's admirable nonetheless, the amount of effort the other boy put in all because of a 'personal need'. He could spend his time at the park or work at a flower shop if he needed nature.

They talk about little things, stuff that doesn't delve to deep into either of their lives. Hyungwon seems content with knowing that Minhyuk is a city boy who was looking for an escape from home and Minhyuk is fine with not getting all of the answers to his questions about how Hyungwon went from being an orphan to having a cabin here in the forest.

When Minhyuk notices that he's running low on water, he turns to find Hyungwon who is crouching beside his snapdragons, whispering to them inaudibly.

"Hey, flower boy!"

Hyungwon immediately stops mumbling but it takes another moment for him to turn around and face Minhyuk with a perplexed expression. Smiling lightly, Minhyuk holds up his spray bottle.

"I'm gonna head back in for some more water. Do you want me to refill yours too?" he asks, walking over to him.

Glancing down at the bottle by his feet, Hyungwon looks back up and shakes his head. "There's no need. I'll do the rest. Some of them weren't doing as bad as I thought they were." He grabs his bottle and unfurls his legs.

"I was wondering this the last time but, how did you get these to last?" Minhyuk asks as he stops beside Hyungwon, reaching out to lightly graze his finger along bunched up lilac petals. "They're out of season, aren't they?"

Hyungwon nods and watches Minhyuk get acquainted with his snapdragons. Pride shines in his eyes. "I didn’t have to do anything. They know they’re my favorites so they try to stick around a little longer for me. They probably won’t make it through the rest of the heat wave, though.”

Dropping his hands, Minhyuk shakes his head and snorts. “Okay, I get it. You don’t want to share your gardening tips with me.”

Hyungwon makes a small noise of disagreement, furrowing his eyebrows as his lips dip into a frown. “We all have our secrets,” he says with a sigh. Grasping the neck of his spray bottle, Hyungwon gracefully unfurls his limbs and stands. He offers Minhyuk an empty smile. “And this one is literally all I have.”


	6. i.vi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omggg i'm sorry this took me so long. i had a moment where i wanted to rearrange the entire story and make it shorter, and then i lost all motivation for literally everything, and then i was like 'who cares how long it is #yolo', and here we are today so
> 
> enjoy another unnecessarily long chapter of garbage

Sweat drips down Minhyuk’s brow, riding a jagged path over the bridge of his nose and just barely missing the corner of his eye. His chest heaves, swelling with every breath he sucks in. He feels light, which may be a sign that he overdid it, but it’s something that he hasn’t felt in a long time. It’s been a week and a half since his imprisonment but Minhyuk is already tired.

He left Hyungwon’s cottage with a grin stretched wide across his face and disappointment in his chest. He knew he couldn’t have stayed for long, needed to get back on the royal grounds before anyone realized he wasn’t in the House, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t stall when leaving, only doing so after Hyungwon offered to share his phone number.

_“You have a phone? Like a portable one?” Minhyuk had asked to which Hyungwon looked at him as if Minhyuk asked if he had two eyes and a nose._

_“Is that a problem?” Hyungwon quirked a brow._

_Minhyuk raised his hands in front of his chest, placating. “No! I was just…I don’t know.”_

_Hyungwon laughed and shook his head, unoffended. “I’m not poor, Minhyuk. I can afford a phone.”_

_Minhyuk didn’t think he was, but Hyungwon was such a free spirit — and one with no familial support — that Minhyuk couldn’t help but think about how the other boy supported himself. So, he asked._

_“I work at my friend’s family’s restaurant when they need an extra hand,” Hyungwon explained as he walked up the stairs leading to the lofted space that held his bed. He returned with a device Minhyuk recognized as an older model to the phone he currently had. “But, my parents are…famous, you could say. I have a lot of guilt money from my loving mother.”_

And Minhyuk, not knowing how to respond to that, simply held out his hand to take Hyungwon’s phone and input his number into the contacts.

Wrestling off his ratty gloves, Minhyuk lets them drop to the floor and lifts the end of the face towel slung around his neck. With his other hand, he stabilizes the gently wobbling heavy bag.

It's nice to have a friend outside the influence of the House. Hoseok and Changkyun, while neither are particularly into politics, are both still subject to scrutiny due to who their parents are. And when university is in session, Minhyuk tries to creep through the day without attracting too much attention to himself. He hasn't made one friend in any of his classes and he really isn't interested in doing so. Not when you can't trust anyone. But Hyungwon, who doesn't care for anything other than his garden, is refreshing. He's the spring Minhyuk has been missing, cold and distant like the first few weeks out of winter, but steadily warming up.

Minhyuk walks over to the other side of the home gym he had installed when he was still working through his anger management counseling and grabs his water bottle. He pops off the dark navy cap and lifts the plastic spout edge to his lips. The water has long warmed to room temperature but it still goes down his throat cold and Minhyuk chugs half of it before pulling the bottle away from his lips. As he stands there, eyes squeezed shut with his heart pounding in quick half-beats in his ears, in his own universe, Minhyuk feels himself reach the almost lethargic calm he’s missed dearly.

He slipping; he can feel it - his blood buzzing with energy, with old contempt and rage. He doesn’t know if it’s the fast approaching date of the coronation or just life in general getting him down. He’s slipping, but he’ll be fine. Everything will work out in the end. He’ll make sure of it.

 

Ten minutes sitting in the middle of the shower floor, nearly drowning because of the rush of warm water over his head defying gravity whenever he inhales, is last step of Minhyuk’s stress relief routine. A towel as white as it was when it was bought lies lengthwise over his head, doing very little for the droplets of water hanging off his dyed hair. Gripping the corner of the towel with his right hand, Minhyuk wipes the water out of his eyes as he flicks through hangers of clothing with his other hand.

He picks out a black, cotton shirt with bold red letters spelling out gibberish printed in the center. Hooking the curved end of the hanger on his wrist, he pivots to look through his pant options behind him. There isn’t much variety in his selection ranging from various shades of denim jeans and too many pairs of black sweatpants and joggers. He settles on a lightweight cotton pair of joggers the color of overcast clouds.

Dressing quickly, he finishes rubbing at his hair until it stops dripping on his face and shirt. He returns the towel to the conjoined bathroom and hangs it over the bar outside the shower. Before the exits the bathroom, he stands in front of the sink and looks at himself in the mirror.

He didn’t care one way or the other when three of the junior maids casually told him they were curious about what he would look like with black hair like the rest of his family. He dyed it on a whim — or maybe it was out of a weird idea that if he did it, he wouldn’t feel so different to them — and at first it was fine. He looked fine enough, liked it well enough. But now, looking at himself with this unnatural color, sandy eyebrows peeking through the strands plastered to his forehead, he can’t help but feel like a fraud. For the first time, he notices how much the black has started to fade to an ashy (and admittedly unpleasant) color in the few weeks since he applied the semi-permanent dye. 

By the time he notices that he’s moved, his hand is already hovering in front of his nose, on its way to his fringe. Dropping his hand to the marbled sink counter, Minhyuk shakes his hair out of his face and splatters droplets onto the mirror. Turning away from his reflection looking back at him, he brushes his fingers over the light switch and leaves the impostor behind.

 

The dining hall is a beautiful, extravagant room longer than it is wide. Its ceiling is high and three chandeliers of brass frames and delicate glass beads and bright white lamps hang down equidistant from one another along the length of it. Elegant swirling lines are embossed into the cream painted walls and lined with gold. In the center of the hall sits a glossy, rectangular, wooden table long enough to seat sixteen people in matching high backed chairs.

For as much work as the kitchen staff does whenever Minhyuk finds himself 'supervising', dinner is always a light affair, never consisting of more than four courses on ordinary days. Usually, he has the stomach for soup, the main course, seasonal fruits, and tea but, that evening Minhyuk pushes moist strips of braised garlic herb chicken around his plate, painting chunky red stripes of tomato sauce with no final image in mind. The high clinking of silverware against fine china makes his right ear itch.

After nearly three months of not sharing meals with his family, it appears much has stayed the same without his presence. His father still sits at the head of the table and Hyunwoo to his left. That evening, Minhyuk chose to sit two seats down from Hyunwoo and their mother, who changes her seat freely, sat across from him. Conversation doesn't come easy, hasn't in years. He and Hyunwoo used to be closer, used to talk about lessons back when they were still taking them together with the education adviser, used to talk in general. Minhyuk misses the companionship of his brother, sometimes. There isn't anything to regret about his relationship with his father considering they never had one and like her seat choice, his mother's openness varies from day to day. From the way the few flowers in the garden are drooping today, Minhyuk knows his mother is feeling down.

Exhaling a light sigh, Minhyuk lifts his fork to his mouth and finally eats the chunk of chicken he's been playing with. He doesn't know why Hyunwoo stressed eating as a family when they haven't been more than four individuals roleplaying as such for years. Raising his eyes from his plate, Minhyuk glances over at the door leading to the kitchen. He wonders how much longer it'll be before the staff come in to take away these plates and bring out the next.

"Everyone," Heeyoung calls, voice nothing but polite.

Minhyuk turns away from the door, unable to help looking at his mother curiously.

"As we are all in the same room, I think it's a good time to tell you I will be taking a small vacation following the coronation with my fellow Queens and Empresses to a hot spring resort in Nadir," she announces. She looks between the three of them, finally settling soft eyes on Minhyuk.

His father asking, in a gruff voice, "For what purpose?” makes her purse her lips.

Minhyuk, still watching her, almost cracks a smile when she aborts an eye roll. His parents have always had a beautiful, loving marriage.

"For vacation," she repeats, the end of her statement half twisted into a question.

"Absolutely not," Joowan denies. He places his fork on the edge of his plate and the sound they make when they come in contact makes Minhyuk shudder.

His mother regards her husband with disinterest and says, "I wasn't asking for permission nor should I have to. _I_ do not belong to _you_. You are _my_ King."

"I will not--"

"It is not up to your will." Raising her hand, Heeyoung beckons over Luda. "I will be taking the rest of today's meal in my tea room, thank you."

She gracefully pushes out her chair and stands, her mint gown gently rustling with her movement. She angles her head politely at the table, Minhyuk and Hyunwoo returning the gesture, and promptly leaves the dining hall as Luda rushes to relay the change in location to the other members of the staff responsible for carrying out each course.

Minhyuk slouches down in his seat, cuts another piece of chicken off the breast, glances at his brother and father, and idly comments, "I'm glad we're such a strong familial unit."

Out of the corner of his eye, Minhyuk sees Hyunwoo turn to him in scandal. He turns himself, cheek pressed into his shoulder and gives his brother a look of amusement that dares Hyunwoo to even hint that Minhyuk's single-handedly tearing their family apart ever again.

 

Walking out of his room, hands shoved deep into his pockets, Minhyuk almost barrels into Junhong standing outside his door. He can't find it in himself to apologize as he watches the boy’s eyes balloon with surprise. He regards Junhong with boredom, both having an idea of why the junior staff member is at his door and being uninterested in anything Junhong has to say.

He woke up exhausted and unable to muster up his cheap, glass-half-empty brand of optimism. The coronation will be held in two days time, at sunset, and the guests who will be staying at the House leading up to the event will arrive tomorrow night. As he expected, Minhyuk will not be spending the days leading up to and immediately following the coronation at the House. He'd be a hazard, Advisor Ahn had said, and couldn't be trusted to stay in his room and not cause trouble. It's comical, really, how he can't be trusted to go out and can't be trusted to stay in. But he's used to the fickleness of the people around him who are supposed to be voices of authority.

"Best of days to you, Your Highness," Junhong greets, dipping into a deep bow.

Minhyuk hums and returns the bow with a short nod. He shifts his weight, cocking his hip.

The poor attitude leaves Junhong faltering and he stutters out, "Y-You're set to leave for your hotel in the next ten minutes, if you're ready. Her Majesty is waiting for you in the foyer." His eyes shift from a space over Minhyuk's shoulder, to his own hands, to just above Minhyuk's eyes.

Minhyuk notices the boy's discomfort but says nothing to comfort him. "Thanks," he says plainly. "You can return to the Queen or wherever you came from." It's extremely rude, even with his elevated status compared to Junhong, but he flicks his fingers away, shooing the taller boy away.

Junhong frowns a bit and Minhyuk feels the first twist of emotion of the day: remorse. The boy bows before he can make an attempt at an apology, slipping away and back down the hall.

Annoyed, Minhyuk sighs and ruffles his hair. He pivots on his heel and shuffles back into his room, heading straight for the warm dark wood vanity chest. From the top, littered with earrings and necklaces he never wears, he picks up his black, fabric mask. He fits the straps around his ears yet leaves the bulk of the mask at his chin. His bookbag sits on his bed beside a smoky grey beanie too hot for the end of spring. He grabs them both, slinging the bag over one shoulder and gripping the hat in his hand.

His mother is waiting for him in the foyer when he strolls in, dressed in a rare pair of deep brown slacks paired with a cream blouse with a ruffled collar. She doesn't look much better than she has for the past couple of days, but she smiles lightly at him when he enters the quaint room smelling of late summer rain and rosewater.

The foyer, like most of the property, is more for show than actual use. Everyone in his family has specific rooms throughout the House they prefer to spend their time in, although perhaps the staff uses it on their down time. Two black leather couches and an identical arm chair create a U-shape in the center of the room. Along the walls are portraits of some of the former monarchs, the descendants of Ga-in, dating back two hundred and sixty-three years. Minhyuk likes looking at them from time to time, but it's hard to imagine Hyunwoo's face joining the likes of his mother.

It doesn't feel right.

"How are you this morning, darling?" His mother opens her arms for him to stumble into like he used to when he was younger.

Her hug holds no strength but Minhyuk still sighs and presses his cheek to the top of her head. She still smells like spring. "M'alright," he mumbles. And he is. He was afraid he'd feel nothing but lava in his veins at being thrown out of his own house again, being delegated to second-class citizen status again. There's the chance it'll hit later, when he's cooped up in his hotel room wasting money on room service, but for the moment, he's fine.

When he draws back, smoothing down the strands of her hair that have come out of place, he frowns deeply at the red lining her eyes. "And you? What's wrong?"

She shakes her head immediately. "Nothing is wrong, dear."

"You can't expect me to believe that." Minhyuk thumbs under her eye where he imagines her tears fell. "The flowers are still down, too."

Clasping her hands around his wrist, she drags his hand away from her face. Her hazel eyes, looking more brown under the foyer lights, stray from his when she says, "I'm sorry."

"About the coronation?"

"About many things," she corrects.

The vagueness does nothing to ease Minhyuk's worry. "Why don't you ever actually talk to me?"

The sound of someone entering the foyer breaks the duo apart. "The car is ready, Your Majesty."

Heeyoung nods. Minhyuk adjusts his bookbag on his shoulder.

Before he can make to leave, his mother cups his face with a soft hand. "Now is not the time, Minhyuk. But later, I promise."

Minhyuk has come to learn that 'later' is never definite, is never a promise.

 

The coronation is supposed to air on every kingdom-run station and Minhyuk, despite himself, is tuned in like the rest of the kingdom surely is. Laid out along the width of his hotel bed, arm bent above his head and chin propped up in his palm, Minhyuk focuses on the slim television. He watches as sleek cars, all with tainted windows like the one he used to leave the royal grounds, pull into the circular driveway outside the grand front doors of the House of Petals. With every official and adviser and royal from the neighboring kingdoms and empires that steps out of their escort vehicles, Minhyuk's promise to see the coronation to the end weakens. And the party hasn't even started yet.

The announcer enthusiastically introduces the King and three princesses of Aex, the distant camera following their graceful entry into the House. Sighing, Minhyuk rolls onto his back. He swings his arm around behind him blindly, searching for the television remote. It takes him a moment to find a channel that isn't a broadcast of the arrivals to the House or news coverage of the event, settling on a showing of a cartoon princess movie a couple years old. He doesn't remember liking it, but it'll surely be a better use of time than tuning in to The Biggest Event in the kingdom since his mother's ascension to Queen.

A small girl with long-flowing red hair and eyes the color of lapis lazuli runs through the town square, chased by gaggle of bandits. Minhyuk snorts when she trips over nothing. Soon, her Prince Charming will swoop in and help her. As she struggles to avoid being caught, Minhyuk's phone beeps and vibrates next to his elbow.

The screen lights up as he looks down at it, a single text notification stretched across the display. It's from Hyungwon - a simple question of 'are you doing anything special?'

Minhyuk sits up and takes the phone into his hands, unlocking the device swiftly and accessing his messages. He starts to type his response, wondering if Hyungwon is watching the even before remembering his lack of a television as well as the boy's criticism of the kingdom. Instead, he send backs 'not at all' to which Hyungwon invites him over, sounding as to the point as he always does.

It doesn't take much thought for Minhyuk to roll himself off the bed, just barely remembering to turn off the television and grab his mask before leaving the room.

 

Hyungwon's door is open when Minhyuk makes it through the dimly lit forest path. He knocks twice on the doorframe but steps into the small home without waiting for an answer. The living room is empty, he notices, and he shuffles over to the kitchen to find there, too, void of the flower boy.

"Hyungwon?" he calls, trailing back into the living room and taking a seat on the couch. He slips his finger under one of the straps of his mask and pulls it off, stuffing it into one of the front pockets of his jeans.

The response is immediate, Hyungwon's voice trailing from down the hallway that stretches past the kitchen. "Minhyuk?"

Dragging a cushion the color of a cloudless summer afternoon into his lap, Minhyuk nudges off his sneakers and tucks one of his legs under the other. He twists at the waist so he can see over the backrest and cheekily answers, "Who else would it be?"

Imagining the most likely deadpan expression on the other man's face brings a smile to Minhyuk's own. Hyungwon walks into view a second later, a pretty pure white anemone that complements his oversized, baby pink t-shirt tucked behind his left ear. In his hands is a tall, glass bottle corked, and with its skinny neck filled with red.

"You're earlier than I thought you'd be," he says. His plush lips twist into a frown and his eyebrows pull together with curiosity.

"I was in the city so I caught a taxi," Minhyuk explains.

Hyungwon hums to himself. "I didn't think they would be running today. But either way, would you like some wine? I'm celebrating." He lifts the bottle higher before walking off toward his small kitchenette.

"Celebrating what?" Minhyuk questions, rising from the couch to follow after him.

The tall boy pulls out two simple, transparent plastic cups meant to mimic glass from a cabinet, the wine still held in a single hand. When he turns around, mouth parted as if on the verge of answering Minhyuk's question, and they lock eyes, he flinches.

Minhyuk curbs a laugh, biting into his lower lip to hide a smile that only widens when Hyungwon pretends like he wasn't surprised and holds out the cups for him to take.

"Nothing...everything." Hyungwon shrugs.

And somehow, Minhyuk thinks he understands what Hyungwon means.

They return to the living room and Minhyuk sits the cups down on the short table in front of them. He holds out a hand for the bottle of wine, offering to pour their first drinks.

"Do you have a corkscrew?" he asks, turning the bottle in his hands to see the label.

Exhaling a soft ah, Hyungwon rounds the couch again to retrieve the opener. He hands Minhyuk one that looks like it's never been used and takes a seat on the couch next to him. He pulls both his legs up onto the cushion and rests his chin on his knees.

Minhyuk pops out the cork and reaches for the nearest of the two cups. "Are you old enough to drink?" It had never occurred to Minhyuk to question the other boy's age before, although he won't deny Hyungwon a drink even if he is less than nineteen.

Hyungwon snorts a soft sound. When Minhyuk peeks up at him briefly, the boy is glancing at him with heavy lids.

"You're already pouring it and you're choosing now to ask?" There's laughter in his voice and his lips curl into a familiar soft, somewhat cheeky smile. It's the same smile he always wears whenever he thinks Minhyuk has said or done something foolish. "But, yes, I am."

The sight of it, even if it is at his expense, brings a smile to his own face. "Don't laugh at me," Minhyuk scolds playfully. He tips the spout of the bottle upwards, stopping the red stream. "Here." He holds out the half full cup.

Hyungwon takes it thankfully and waits for Minhyuk to fill his own cup and set the wine down on the table beside them. His first sip is long and leaves a small bead of wine at the seam of his lips that he quickly collects with the tip of his tongue. "I'm not normally a drinker," Hyungwon says, gently swirling his drink.

Minhyuk brings his cup to his lips. "Neither am I."

 

"How long am I supposed to stir it?" Minhyuk whines, still beating at the egg whites and sugar Hyungwon pushed towards him. His arm is killing him, but Hyungwon swore the meringue is the most important part of the recipe.

Hyungwon looks at him, tipping his glass back and finishing the last swallow of his third glass of wine. "Until it becomes...you know, fluffy and stuff."

Minhyuk would laugh at the other boy's atypical ineloquence if he himself wasn't feeling a mild buzz. "Why don't you have any electric cooking appliances?"

"Do you know how hard it would be to direct electricity here?"

The decision to make sakura chiffon pancakes was a joint effort. Hyungwon said he wanted to try making a cake after trying one at his friend's restaurant but, as he doesn't have an oven, bought ingredients for pancakes to substitute and was unsure if it would come out right. Minhyuk, after spilling a few drops of wine on his leg trying to refill his glass, suggested they give it a try, claiming everything would be fine.

If Hyungwon lived like a normal person, perhaps it would be fine.

Minhyuk adjusts his hold on the medium, stainless steel bowl in his hands and tries to put a little more power into his whipping. "I can't believe I let you talk me into doing this," he continues to complain.

Rolling his eyes, Hyungwon snorts and sets the glass in his hands down on the counter. He walks over to Minhyuk, already finished with preparing the rest of the batter, and peers into the bowl. "It's not as soupy as I thought it'd be. Here." He angles the bowl towards him and closes a hand around Minhyuk's. "Slip your hand out."

It takes a moment for Minhyuk's wine-tipsy brain to register the request, surprised at the contact. He lets Hyungwon take the bowl and reaches for his drink. He nurses it slowly as he watches Hyungwon attempt to finish the meringue. "Hyuk and the others would never let me live this down," he mumbles aloud, smiling to himself.

Hyungwon hums, glancing down at him curiously.

Minhyuk doesn't realize he's continuing to speak aloud as he says, "One prince is getting crowned and the other is making pancakes in the middle of the Forest." He huffs.

He doesn't notice Hyungwon has stopped whipping, his own eyes trained on the bowl but unfocused. But eventually he picks up on the quiet, the sound of the whisk scrapping against the sides of the bowl no longer present. Blinking wildly to refocus his eyes, Minhyuk looks up at Hyungwon who stares back.

"What?" he asks, uncomfortable. "Why are you looking at me like that?" He pokes his tongue out, supposing there must be red hanging from his lips.

Hyungwon's eyes narrow for a quick second before relaxing. Abruptly, he turns and walks the short distance to where the batter was left. "One prince is getting crowned and the other is making pancakes in the middle of the Forest," he repeats with a little bit of question in his voice. He carefully adds the meringue to the batter.

Panic rushes over Minhyuk like a flash flood, the utterance seemingly a small thing until it rushed in with enough power to trip him up, pull him under, drown him. He's not drunk, not yet, but for some reason he can't find his words, can't put together anything to explain.

But then again, does he need to? Will explaining make him more suspicious than if he tries to play it off as him saying things without meaning them? On the other hand, can't he trust Hyungwon with this secret?

Swallowing his nerves, Minhyuk sets his glass down. He sucks in a breath and squares his shoulders. "Have you never seen the rumors about the second prince?"

Hyungwon stops stirring the batter and huffs out a laugh. "Of course, I've seen them. It'd be impossible not to. Everyone likes to speculate over if they're true or not."

"But not you?"

Hyungwon shrugs, still looking down into the batter. "I don't have any interest in the matters of the House. And especially not when there's such a public show of one of the royals being made a fool out of. Everyone knows there's another prince of Maua out there, but the guessing game the House plays is disgusting."

His face is wrapped in annoyance, his eyebrows pulled together and his mouth set in a sneer. For someone who proclaims to be disinterested, he's awfully worked up. It's probably the alcohol, Minhyuk thinks, but seeing Hyungwon so emotional, especially about something concerning him, makes him feel warm.

"I'm used to it," says Minhyuk.

Blinking once, Hyungwon turns to Minhyuk with wide eyes as if he forgot where he was and who he was talking to. "Ah," he exhales and runs his tongue over stained red lips. "So...it _is_ you?"

"You don't believe me?"

Hyungwon tilts his head to the side and walks around Minhyuk to get to the stove. He turns the gas on and then the burner, a cast iron pan already sitting atop the flames. "I don't mean to offend you, but in both image and attitude you're not exactly who I would guess."

Minhyuk waves a hand. "No, it's fine. Most people are stuck in the middle between belief and disbelief. Do you want proof?"

Hyungwon shakes his head. "Should I call you 'Your Highness', then?" He pours a spoon's worth of oil into the pan and tilts it until the surface is covered.

Minhyuk picks up the batter and walks it over to the stove. He chuckles. "Please don't. I like what we have now."

"And what do we have now?" Hyungwon gives him that light, teasing smile.

The fire burning on the stove makes Minhyuk feel warm. "I don't know," he says, dipping the end of the whisk into the batter and watching it drip in long rivulets, "but it's nice."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how is this already 30,000+ words???
> 
> i made a [writing blog](https://at-tostitos.tumblr.com/) (& my [personal](http://bittersucrose.tumblr.com/))


	7. i.vii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i decided to cut this chapter in half because i felt bad that i was taking so long. if i don't update by the end of november, feel free to burn me at the stake. sometimes i post spoilers on my [writing blog](https://at-tostitos.tumblr.com/) if i take too long. 
> 
> (& my [personal](http://bittersucrose.tumblr.com/) if you care about lil ol' weenie me)

The microwave beeps its completion and Minhyuk stabs the door release button with his index finger. From the microwave, he pulls out a paper towel with two faintly pink pancakes stacked atop each other – leftovers from his and Hyungwon's baking attempt. They were small things, hardly larger than the size of his palm. He and Hyungwon ate most of them together but of the three left, Hyungwon let him take two.

Minhyuk hisses as the warm cakes start to burn his fingers through the damp napkin and he quickly returns to his bed, sitting the pancakes on the sheets. He closes the microwave door and takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

Today his brother and his parents should be beginning their tour of the kingdom, greeting the people as is customary after formal announcements made by the royal family. It’s always best to see how the citizens react to the news. Minhyuk finds the practice useless. In most instances, no one is going to outright say they disagree with the decisions of the House. While their laws regarding disrespecting the name of the throne have eased over the years, such open opposition is never something taken well by the House or security who likes to talk down people until they defer.

According to what he heard in the halls of the House before his temporary exile, a few royals from nearby kingdoms will be staying at the House for the next two days to more intimately celebrate Hyunwoo's rise to Crown Prince without all of the extra pomp.

Minhyuk picks apart his breakfast, breaking the pancakes into chunks with his fingers before placing them on his tongue. They're not as bad as they could have been, good even. He can't help but smile as he thinks about his time with Hyungwon. Every time they meet, they do something unexpected, and Minhyuk finds he likes the spontaneity. And perhaps it was only an effect of the alcohol, but Hyungwon was open last night in a way that he usually isn't and Minhyuk wonders if they're finally making a breakthrough in their friendship.

Knocking at his door makes Minhyuk pause in his chewing and he looks over at the exit with narrowed eyes. He hasn't requested room service and he turned the door sign over so the cleaning workers skip his room when they do their rounds. Frowning, he swallows. Sliding off the bed, he shuffles over to the door. His hair is still a sleep-ruffled mess and his sleep pants hang low off his hips, but he doesn't attempt to make himself more presentable before opening the door.

Hoseok's wide grin is what greets him on the other side.

"Rise and shine, Princess."

Minhyuk makes a face and picks at his eyelashes that feel like they're clumped together. "I'm up, obviously."

"Obviously," Hoseok returns, giving Minhyuk a meaningful once-over.

"How did you know I was here?" Minhyuk asks, flicking an eyelash off the tip of his finger.

"Are you forgetting who my mother is?" He rolls his eyes. "But whatever. I brought you a gift to light up your dark days."

“Can you please be less dramat—?”

Hoseok reaches outside of Minhyuk’s view and grapples onto an arm, dragging in a familiar face.

Changkyun is all bright laughter and rosy cheeks as he finds his balance next to Hoseok. "Best of days to you, Your Highness." He salutes, his formal greeting undermined by his cheekiness. He looks good, mostly the same, and Minhyuk is glad to know that those months abroad didn't change his friend.

Blinking surprised eyes, Minhyuk catches Changkyun by the neck and draws him into a hug that the younger boy returns with a fake sigh of exasperation. "You're back? Damn, and just when I thought I had gotten rid of you for good."

Snorting, Changkyun digs his fingers into his side, right under the bones of his ribs. "You say as you squeeze me to death." When Minhyuk releases him and puts a reasonable distance between them, he narrows his eyes at the ashy mess atop Minhyuk's head. "What the hell did you do to your hair?"

Minhyuk runs a hand through it, scissoring his fingers to untangle the strands and settle them. "Don't ask." He sighs. Walking backwards, he motions for his friends to come in.

"Is it permanent?" Changkyun ignores Minhyuk's request to drop the subject of his hair.

And Minhyuk understands. Hoseok had the same reaction when he first dyed his hair, automatically recognizing it as an attempt to assimilate into the image of the royal family and hating that Minhyuk felt like he had to do such a thing to earn the respect and attention he should have unconditionally. No matter how much Minhyuk tried to argue that he was simply curious, that there was no greater emotional motive for why he went black, Hoseok refused to believe it. Minhyuk doesn't like to think about how much he consciously and subconsciously frets over his image.

Shaking his head, Minhyuk returns to his pancakes. He crawls onto the bed and crosses his legs in a pretzel, sitting the damp paper towel and the remains of his breakfast on the peak where his shins cross. "No, it'll wash out and fade eventually. It was a joke; don't worry about it."

He ignores Hoseok's snort and Changkyun's skeptical eyebrow raise.

Changkyun hops onto the bed as well while Hoseok flicks off the light and goes to open the curtains. Minhyuk squints tired eyes at the assault of sunshine. As much as he loves his friends, Minhyuk wanted to curl up in his blankets and forget the rest of the world existed past the confinement of his hotel room.

"What are these?" Changkyun's spindly fingers gravitate toward the pancakes and Minhyuk slaps the back of his hand before they make contact.

"My breakfast."

There's a swiveling chair in the corner of the room and Hoseok drags it over to the edge of the bed. When he sits, it squeaks under his weight.

"Changkyun came in last night so I thought it’d be okay to come over since everyone is too busy following the Family to be concerned with you," he says, rocking from side to side in the chair.

Changkyun leans back on his palms, no longer interested in the pancakes. "Yeah, I heard about you being on lock down. It’s messed up."

“It’s nothing I’m not used to.” Minhyuk shrugs, breaking off another piece of his pancake. 

"No, Minhyuk." Changkyun's lips turn down in a serious frown, one that he doesn't make very often as the most innocent and carefree of the trio. "I know you try to pretend like this is just something you have to deal with now and that it'll get better eventually, but something is seriously wrong."

It's almost enough to make Minhyuk laugh – the way he says it like Minhyuk isn't aware that he's being strung along by his family, as if Minhyuk's been living the past twenty years of his life with his eyes closed and ears plugged to everything around him.

He can't help the sharp smirk that darkens his expression. "Did you figure that out while you were abroad?" he says, perhaps a bit mean. 

At his biting tone, Hoseok's eyebrows rise. "You're sensitive," he comments airily, knowing that if he was to more directly reference Minhyuk's attitude that their conversation wouldn't end well. He says it more to Changkyun than Minhyuk and Changkyun, although having met Minhyuk after the end of his therapy, picks up on the hint that the prince isn't simply being sarcastic. 

Dismissing the older man's words with another shrug, Minhyuk squishes his pancakes in between his fingers. Something black churns low in his stomach and twists it in knots. His lips begin to stretch, begin to widen from a smirk to a sneer, and before anger bubbles up through his chest like magma and reaches his mouth, he kicks his legs over the edge of the bed.

Changkyun flinches at the abrupt action but Hoseok holds still, watching Minhyuk with worried eyes as the prince stands. 

Sucking in a wavering breath, Minhyuk clamps his teeth down on the inside of his left cheek and stares at a slightly discolored patch, a red wine stain, in the cream carpet. He lets his eyes defocus, until the world around him is nothing but a gaussian blur of muted color. And he breathes.

He doesn't know how long he stands there, if it's one minute or five or fifteen, listening to his blood rush in his ears like the wind would outside a speeding car. Through it all, he hears Changkyun clear his throat.

"I overheard my dad talking with someone on the phone as we drove back from the airport and, unless it was completely unavoidable, I think they'd disown you faster than they'd fully acknowledge you as a member of the family.

 

Someone pulls the stop line on the bus and Minhyuk drops his head back against the seat and squeezes his eyes shut. He traps his groan in his throat, pressing his lips together tight so they disappear into one thin line. They agreed to meet at the park at noon but, of course, Minhyuk is running late. He overslept, having mistakenly not turned on the alarm on his phone, and, by the time he rushed out of his hotel and made it to the nearest bus stop that would take him to South Maua, he had missed the bus by two minutes. For a bus that's always late, it's amazing that it would come on time the day he himself was off schedule. With another couple days before he can return to the House of Petals, he didn't want to cover the expense of a taxi into the southern neighborhood of the kingdom and opted to wait another thirty minutes for the next bus which pulled up to the stop fifteen minutes late.

And now it seems like there's someone waiting to get on or get off at every stop along the long route from the center of the city to the countryside.

Pulling out his phone, he lights up the screen. There are no new messages or calls since Hyungwon told him that he doesn't mind waiting for Minhyuk to arrive. Juggling the phone back and forth in his hands, Minhyuk contemplates sending another message, updating the younger boy on when he should arrive. He ultimately doesn't. If Hyungwon says he doesn't care, then he's probably being truthful and not just saying something Minhyuk wants to hear to be at ease.

Sighing, Minhyuk glances out of the window. Plus, there's only another six stops before they reach the one outside of the park.

He fiddles with the strap of his mask. Ever since the last tabloid fiasco, he has gone back to wearing it in public. He forgot himself for a moment, got used to always being in the news but always a quick gossip story, and was tired of breathing in hot air in the middle of summer. The day he doesn't have to take these measures to live comfortably — can he even say that he’s living comfortably now? — can't come soon enough. If it ever comes at all, that is.

 

He spies Hyungwon leaning against the bus stop marker from the window as the vehicle pulls up to the curb. The younger boy wears a friendly smile as he talks to a small girl holding her mother's hand as they wait to board the bus. It's a sweet image that brings a smile to Minhyuk's face that only softens further when Hyungwon plucks the sunflower from behind his ear and holds it out to the girl.

Jumping out of his seat as soon as the bus slows enough that he doesn't have to worry about falling over someone, Minhyuk walks down the aisle to the doors. He grabs the handful of change left in his back pocket to pay the fare and, when the door swings open with a worrisome shudder and whine, he rushes down the steep stairs.

"Mommy, can you put it in my hair too?" The small girl blinks egg-round eyes up at her mother, nearly vibrating with happiness as she bounces on her toes.

Her mother laughs, warm and fond, and gently takes the flower from her daughters hand. "Of course, sweetheart."

The stem is too long for her small head but the flower is tucked secure behind her ear.

Minhyuk warms at the image and he glances over at Hyungwon who looks up at him through messy hair and wiggles his fingers in a wave.

Smiling wide, the girl turns to Hyungwon and grabs his other hand between her tiny ones. "Thank you, Mister!" she chirps.

Hyungwon starts in surprise before a smile that mimics her own takes over his face. "You're most welcome, little Princess," he says in a sweet voice that Minhyuk has never heard him use before. He brushes his fingers along the yellow petals of the sunflower. "Take good care of my flower, okay?"

The girl's cheeks turn a rosy pink at the name. "I-I will!"

Joining Hyungwon by his side as the young woman leads her daughter to the bus with a grateful smile and a farewell greeting, Minhyuk feels something tug at his heart.

"That was sweet."

Hyungwon shrugs off the comment, humble. He watches as the bus rolls away, groaning and creaking as it does, and when the sound of it no longer grates on their ears, he glances at Minhyuk. "Are you okay?"

Rather than enter the park, he motions for them to cross the street.

"What? Ah, yeah, I just forgot my alarm," Minhyuk explains as they make their way across the dirt path. "Sorry to make you wait."

Hyungwon hums in acknowledgment. "That's not what I meant."

It's a full statement but Minhyuk can hear the pause, the weight in the air that there is something else the other boy would like to add. When he glances over at him, Hyungwon's eyes are trained down at the ground and he follows the gaze to pale, dirt-spotted feet, a thin gold anklet clasped around his right foot where his black, slim-fit jeans end.

"We dropped the conversation fairly quickly when you visited, but you're not the kind of person to be completely unaffected by the royal tour of the kingdom despite the act you put on," Hyungwon eventually continues, flicking his eyes over to Minhyuk.

There's something in his voice, a strange edge that Minhyuk can't piece together, and it's annoying that Hyungwon can read him but Minhyuk can't do the same. He wants to be able to say he knows the boy behind the teasing smiles, wants to know what those guarded eyes are safekeeping. Hyungwon knows his biggest secret — although purely due to Minhyuk's own loose mouth — but will he ever reveal his own to Minhyuk?

"Are you?" Minhyuk returns, not wanting to have the same conversation as with his friends. His temper is a fickle thing, flaring up over one thing and then completely soothed the next time that same stimulus appears again, but he'd rather not give himself the chance to lose his head in front of Hyungwon.

"No," Hyungwon answers with complete honesty, something of a laugh turning his otherwise blasé tone sardonic. He lifts his head, casting his gaze to the cloud-scattered sky. "I haven't been okay for a while, actually, but today is probably the worst I've felt since..." He drifts into a sigh, shaking his head as if to rid his mind of whatever memory it conjured up.

Minhyuk frowns, wishing Hyungwon would truly open up for once, if only so Minhyuk could properly extend his hand in comfort. He's always been aware for how much he didn't know about Hyungwon, but hearing the boy say he hasn't been content with his life for an extended period of time, hurts Minhyuk in a way that he can't explain. All this time, throughout their few meetings and exchanges, Hyungwon has been down and Minhyuk didn't know, couldn't have possibly known.

"I told you once that I had a rough time growing up, being the kind of person that I am, and that I don't think too highly of the Royal Family." He shoves his hands into his pockets and his eyes once again find interest in the small, brown clouds his feet kick up. (Minhyuk didn't think it possible for such a long, gangly boy to look so small.)

Hyungwon teethes at his lip, inhaling deeply through his nose. "I mean absolutely no offense, Your Highness," he bites out the title with disgust, "but when I say that I hate the Royal Family and everything the current generation chooses to be, it's an understatement."

Mouth opening without words, Minhyuk doesn't get the chance to formulate something, anything, to fit the current mood before Hyungwon fills the silence with an apology.

“I have nothing against you, Minhyuk. It’s just…it’s just—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Minhyuk interrupts, despite how much a whining voice in the back of his mind is reminding him of how much he wants that — an explanation. But this is obviously a sore spot for the other man and Minhyuk doesn’t want Hyungwon to push himself if he’s only doing it to appease hurt feelings that Minhyuk doesn’t even have. “Nor do you need to apologize. Do you really think I’m going to be bothered by what you have to say against my family?” He cracks a smile and adds a small laugh to his words, aiming to lighten the atmosphere.

It works for a moment, Hyungwon finally facing him as his lips quirk upwards.

The small smile quickly falls. Suddenly, Hyungwon stops them with a hand on Minhyuk’s upper arm.

“Then I’ll at least say this.” With his pretty, muddy-green eyes, he stares into Minhyuk whose stomach turns peculiarly at the look. The hand on Minhyuk’s arm rises to his face and hovers over his cheek, heavy and warm before it even touches his skin. Gentle fingers tuck under the strap of the left side of his mask and unhook it from around his ear.

A steady drum line begins to sound in Minhyuk's ears but his body doesn't allow him to turn away to figure out where it's coming   from.  

“Don’t let them use and take advantage of you like this,” Hyungwon whispers softly, his knuckles brushing against Minhyuk’s jaw as he releases the mask and lets his hand fall to his side. "Okay?"

Tongue heavy in his mouth, Minhyuk swallows thickly and nods once. "Yeah."

Hyungwon smiles again, then, and continues down the street. 

When Minhyuk looks around, there is no parade of drums and for some reason, his heart pounds.

 

He doesn't think to question where they're going until they're walking up to the entrance of a family home three blocks away from the open air market. It's a spacious home of stained red brick and butter cream shutters, spanning two floors. A decal is plastered onto the wide front window - plain white looping script reading 'Anthurium'.

It's some kind of restaurant or a cafe, Minhyuk infers thanks to the block of white birch sitting in the inside of the windowsill, the word 'OPEN' carved into its side, and the tables he can see arranged inside. He's never thought to come this way, a few blocks down from the marketplace, mainly because this area is mostly residential.

Hyungwon grins up at the house in the biggest display of positivity Minhyuk has ever seen on his generally muted face. He draws the door open and walks in, holding it out for Minhyuk to enter as well.

The restaurant is decently full, patrons seated at a majority of the tables and a buzzing chatter filling the dining space. The interior is simple but not lacking tasteful appeal - all peaches and warm browns, comfortable, floral print padded mahogany chairs and strong square tables.

Hyungwon moves through the room with familiarity, returning pleasant greetings from the diners who recognize him. He doesn't linger, though, heading straight for the kitchen as Minhyuk follows along like a trained pup on a leash.

"Um, Hyungw-"

Pushing open the tall doors to the kitchen, Hyungwon stops in the doorway.

"I'm home."

Minhyuk eyes don't have a chance to register the people rushing around the kitchen because they snap over to the younger boy out of surprise.

Home? 

A hand enters his peripherals and he flinches back as it comes down harshly on the back of Hyungwon's head.

"How many times do I have to tell ya to put some damn shoes on?"

Yelping, Hyungwon reflexively brings his hands to the pained spot, turning around and catching one of the doors on his shoulder as it swings closed with nothing holding it open.

Behind them stands a man shorter than them both with his hands on his hips. He stares up at Hyungwon with annoyed, dark eyes shadowed by deep brown hair that falls into them, ignoring Minhyuk at his side.

"Go put some shoes on and I'll think about if I'll make ya mop the floors or not."

The doors to the kitchen pull open again, a tiny woman standing in the space between them with an amused smile on her lightly aged face.

"Kihyun, stop bothering him when ya've been doing nothing but sitting on your behind all day. He's not tracking in any more dirt than anyone else," she says, chuckling. Stepping outside of the kitchen, she opens her arms and brings Hyungwon into a warm embrace. "Welcome back, sweetheart."

"I can bother him if I wanna bother him," Kihyun returns, words sounding thick in his southern accent. He kicks Hyungwon lightly in the butt. "Yah! Why didn't ya answer any of my messages these last two days?"

"Sorry. You know my connection isn't the greatest out in the Forest," Hyungwon mumbles into the hair of the older woman, most likely Kihyun's mother in their shared eyes, as he brushes off his backside.

It's an extremely domestic image, one Minhyuk himself has never experienced - not even as a child - and he wonders if this is truly what a Home, a Family is supposed to be. As horrible as it is to think, it's funny that the orphan has both whereas Minhyuk can't comfortably say the same.

The woman laughs at their exchange. She sweeps her gaze to the left and releases Hyungwon as soon as she finds Minhyuk standing awkwardly off to the side.

"Best of days to ya, hun," she greets with a warm smile and a polite nod.

Minhyuk nods back. "Best of days to you, ma'am."

"I have to get back to work, but introduce us later." She plants a kiss on Hyungwon's forehead and returns to the kitchen with another smile in Minhyuk's direction.

Kihyun gives Minhyuk his attention for the first time since he approached. For as much his mouth is still pursed with annoyance, the rest of his expression displays friendliness in a strange juxtaposition that somehow fits him. "Ya hungry?"

He isn't, not terribly so, but he hasn't eaten since he woke up, so Minhyuk supposes that he should and says yes. Kihyun leads them into the dining area, searching for a table. 

There is an empty booth in the near center of the wall opposite the window and Kihyun slides in with Hyungwon joining him and leaving Minhyuk with space to himself. Above their heads is a framed photo of the ocean under a pale pink filter. The table is set with two laminated menus in the center and Minhyuk slides one over.

Neither Hyungwon nor Kihyun bother with reaching for the other menu.

Kihyun rests his forearms on the table. "I'm Yoo Kihyun," he introduces himself finally, giving Minhyuk the customary nod and greeting.

In turn, Minhyuk introduces himself as well, almost forgetting to give his last name as Lee rather than Son.

"I told you about a friend I stay with sometimes," Hyungwon speaks up. "This, unfortunately, is him." He laughs, bright and boyish when Kihyun sucks his teeth and shoves him none too gently.

For a moment, Minhyuk thought he was beginning to see the boy within Hyungwon's cool exterior but now he knows that he wasn't even close. This Hyungwon, smiling so widely and open, is almost a complete stranger. Minhyuk feels like he shouldn't be here, like he's getting a look at something not meant for him.

"You're really close," comes from his mouth without his permission. 

Hyungwon glances over at Kihyun who grins full and fond at him. He chews on his lip, obviously weighing an option before turning back to face Minhyuk. "He was my first friend-"

"I'm his only friend," Kihyun quickly amends to Hyungwon's annoyance, the lanky flower boy rolling his eyes. "Or I was before you."

Minhyuk doesn't know if he feels special or even more out of place. 

"I'm glad, though. This one worries me." Kihyun jabs his thumb at Hyungwon. "Walking around with no shoes and falling asleep everywhere. One day, we had to pick him up from the station because he fell asleep in some lady's gardenias and when she found him in her yard, he lectured her on how to take care of them."

Kihyun is put-off but Minhyuk can imagine it so perfectly that it brings a grin to his face. After all, asleep in his garden was how Minhyuk found Hyungwon in the first place. Hyungwon burns a delicate pink at the tale, a shade so light and soft that fills his whole face as if he was screened under the same filter as the picture above their heads, and it's sweet, adorable even, to see him embarrassed. 

"I didn't bring him here so you could tell him stories about me," Hyungwon says, sounding like he should be pouting even if his lips are pressed in a line. 

Kihyun apologizes without a drop of guilt over his loose mouth. 

Hyungwon lightly pushes the menu in the center of the table closer to Minhyuk to remind him of it. "The food is really good here."

Glancing at the menu, Minhyuk quickly flips it open and browses through. His eyes rove over teasing pictures of artfully arranged dishes, each one more delicious looking than the last, but he settles on a seasonal fruit salad due to his lack of hunger.

Kihyun shoos Hyungwon out of the booth so he can relay the order to the kitchen personally and Hyungwon requests a glass of   iced hibiscus tea before he gets too far. 

Left alone, Minhyuk and Hyungwon lapse into silence. Minhyuk plays with the corner of the menu as he watches Hyungwon exhale softly and fold his arms atop the table. He takes the time to look over the younger boy, trying to fit in this new part of Hyungwon with the old version in his mind. Hyungwon is a classic novel, a compelling narrative that Minhyuk feels too ignorant to read through and appreciate. But, at the same time he's a picture book - a visual beauty and, in some ways, simple and easy to follow along with. Dynamic either way and difficult to quit once started.

"Is there a reason why you're looking at me so intensely?"

Hyungwon's voice snatches Minhyuk from the recesses of his mind and he's met with curious eyes peering up at him through wild bangs. 

"I wasn't," Minhyuk denies.

Hyungwon tilts his head but doesn't further that direction of conversation. "Sorry, I didn't originally plan for us to come here. There's a fair in this area that I wanted to go to but visiting the restaurant always helps take some of the edge off."

Shaking his head, Minhyuk smiles at Hyungwon. "No, I appreciate it. You...I don't know much about you and I'm happy that you felt comfortable enough to bring me here with you."

Returning the smile, albeit apologetically, Hyungwon opens his mouth, only for his eyes to flick up and his lips to close again. Seconds later, a fat glass filled with red is placed onto the table along with one full of water. Hyungwon takes his tea and slides over to the wall to let Kihyun sit. 

Minhyuk wonders if Hyungwon will voice his thought, but it seems the moment is lost with Kihyun's return. Hyungwon sips at his tea, receding into his mind with a faraway look in his eyes.

"Um," Minhyuk glances at Kihyun, "is there a bathroom I can use?"

"Yeah, if you go back towards the door, you'll see the sign."

With a nod, Minhyuk slides out of the booth, muttering that he'll be back. He returns Hyungwon's light smile when the younger boy glances at him over his glass before he walks off in search of the bathroom. Hardly five steps past their booth, he stops at the sound of Kihyun's voice.

"You're wearing ya anklet. I thought ya weren't going to anymore after ya said ya were giving up on ya mom."

Minhyuk chances a look over his shoulder as Hyungwon sighs, his back shifting with the deep breath.

"I know." Hyungwon sounds like a late autumn leaf, brittle and threatening to break with even the softest touch, a sharp contrast to how he was no less than ten minutes ago. "But I had a dream she really came back and I woke up crying. You know I haven't cried over her since...before I even said that. I...Kihyun, I couldn't stand to look out my window this morning without wanting to let my entire garden wilt."

Kihyun sits up straight and wraps an arm around Hyungwon's back, guiding the taller man's head to rest on his shoulder.

"This is why I wanted ya to answer your phone. Do ya want to stop by the orphanage tomorrow?"

"Please."

And Hyungwon sounds so desperate that Minhyuk's aches in his chest. Exhaling a small sigh of his own, he gives the two boys their privacy, walking off to the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is probably the most you'll get a look into hyungwon's life until his pov which starts chapter 12 if i don't cut any more of my chapters in half


	8. i.viii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this the second half of chapter 7. it's super short so i'll probably condense them later when i post chapter 8

By the time Minhyuk returns to the House, in the middle of the week and with no press lingering around, his family has finished their tour around the kingdom and all traces of the coronation have already been cleaned up. It he hadn't decided not to care about the latest festivities in Hyunwoo's name, he would have been a little miffed about not even being allowed the masochistic pleasure of seeing the decorations taken down but, as it is, Minhyuk finds comfort in returning to the House in its usual glamour. The less feelings he needs to unpack in the stuffy heat of his gym, the better.

Walking past the kitchens, he contemplates poking his head in and greeting the staff. Weeks have passed since he last went to bother them. Surely they are worried about his prolonged disappearance - he knows they are rejoicing that he hasn't been around to bother them - but he finds that more than anything, even though he only awoke four hours earlier, he wants to go back to sleep.

He hasn't been able to get the image of Hyungwon's downtrodden face out of his head since the day before. Upon returning from the bathroom, the strange flower boy's eyes had been tinged with pink, and Minhyuk couldn't do anything but worry over the state of the other boy's mental health and watch as Kihyun pretended nothing had happened, probably for Hyungwon's sake. It was incredibly uncomfortable, no matter how laid-back of an air Hyungwon tried to project for the rest of the day after they left the restaurant and toured a local shopping block.

As he reaches the stairs, Minhyuk glances down at the green, glass beads dangling from his wrist. He brushes his fingers over the smooth surface, thinking of the similar bracelet Hyungwon bought with yellow beads. They were something of a gift, green to represent the spring of Hyungwon's eyes and yellow for the warm sand of Minhyuk's hair.

His stomach flips uncomfortably when he feels the smooth, yet uneven surface of the glass. Perhaps he should have stopped by the kitchen after all.

"Minhyuk! Welcome home, darling."

Tearing his eyes away from the jewelry looped around his wrist, Minhyuk glances up to find his mother walking in his direction from down the long hallway.

"Afternoon, mother." He nods his head.

He shouldn't, but with her standing before him, his mind compares the warmth of her smile to that of Kihyun's. Kihyun's mother was so warm, as if her embrace alone could protect even in the coldest winter. And Minhyuk's mother is nowhere close to frigid, but she surely isn't the sun.

Shaking his head to rid of those thoughts, Minhyuk takes his mother in as he finishes ascending the stairs. "You look better than before you left," he says.

He didn't pay much attention to the flowering bushes outside as he walked in so he can't say for sure but she looks more lively in appearance.

They meet at the top of the stairs, his mother opening her arms for a hug that Minhyuk grants her without complaint. She doesn't make comment on his statement about her countenance, instead questioning his time spent alone for the past couple of days.

"Are you tired? Would you like to have tea with me?" she asks, carding light fingers through his hair. "I leave for my trip with the other women tomorrow and I'd like to spend some time with my baby."

"Already?" Minhyuk looks down at her with round eyes. "Shouldn't you rest more before you go?"

"It's a vacation, Minhyuk. I can rest all I want while I'm there." The bit of laughter in her voice brightens Minhyuk's grey mood. "Tea?"

Minhyuk heaves a sigh like it's an inconvenience but the slight smile on his face gives him away.

His mother pats his cheek fondly before gripping his shoulders and turning him back around, urging him to continue up the stairs.

 

Climbing over mountains of pillows to get to the low seating table, Minhyuk snorts when he trips over one and loses his footing among the blankets.

"You've added more of these since the last time I had tea with you."

His mother flutters around as usual, bringing over cups and a glass teapot with accented blue swirls. "You can never have too many pillows, Minhyuk," she says as if she's giving him a valuable life lesson.

There are cookies wrapped in plastic on the table and when Minhyuk takes a seat at its corner, he pulls the plate over to himself curiously.

"Those were a gift from the princesses of Uqi."

Oh. More people he doesn't know.

"Cream cheese and raspberry, they said."

"How nice," Minhyuk mumbles, peeling back the plastic wrap and taking a cookie from the mountain. It's soft between his fingers and sweet on his tongue.

His mother returns to the table with a small jar of green, curly leaves that Minhyuk can't identify off the top of his head and immediately begins preparing the tea.

Minhyuk watches her work for a moment, nibbling on the cookie. "Was the tour without problem," he asks after she settles the leaves in to steep. It's not a topic he's necessarily interested in but, as the second prince, even if only in title, he feels it proper to ask.

Haphazardly gathering her periwinkle sundress in her hands, the Queen takes a seat across from him. She lifts up a fluffy, soft pillow and sits it in her lap. "It was...without issue, yes," she answers, picking at the wild tufts of the pillow's cover.

It sounds like there is more she wants to say so Minhyuk remains silent, staring at her imploringly as he chews. He hasn't paid much attention to the news lately, more for his own fragile sanity than for lack of interest, but if anything major happened during the tour, he's sure he would have heard about it regardless.

"Hyunwoo would be a very capable king," the Queen begins to explain, although her eyes refuse to leave her fidgeting fingers. "He's extremely levelheaded and smart, though I do fear for the influence my husband may be having on him. Our citizens appear to like him as well."

"But?" Minhyuk pushes.

Glancing up at him, his mother pinches her lips together. "But what, my dear?"

"There are words you aren't saying. I can read between the lines well enough, but if you're going to make implications, you may as well say them clearly," he says plainly and without emotion, preferring to not show his increasing annoyance with her awful habit of giving him pieces and expecting him to put the puzzle together.

His mother's mouth pops open for a second before she gathers her dignity and presses her lips shut. "There was nothing else to be said, Minhyuk," she replies, a wish for the conversation to be over clear in her voice.

No matter Minhyuk's conflicting feelings on the story of their heritage, still he has noticed that Hyunwoo doesn't have _it_. His grandfather, the previous King, had passed before Minhyuk was born, but even using his mother as the sole reference, she and Hyunwoo do not interact with their land the same. The flowers don't bloom for longer when he's happy, don't droop when he's sad; the harvest isn't at risk when he's infuriated or depressed. He simply isn't a descendant of the legendary Ga-in and therefore not inherently fit for the crown.

If anyone is aware of this, it's his mother, the currently only living child of Ga-in.

But, of course. Minhyuk didn't expect anything more than another poor diversion. It was so predictable that he can't find the usual urge to laugh.

Taking another bit of his cookie, he shrugs and decides he's too tired to push further if she isn't going to yield. "Do not mind me then, Your Majesty."

The use of her title is not lost on his mother and her mouth turns down slightly in a frown. Before she can comment on it, Minhyuk continues.

"So, is there anything else I've missed while I was away? I only saw bits and pieces of the welcome ceremony."

Although she hesitates, the Queen accepts the change to more simple conversation. She draws the teapot closer and checks the tea.

"One of the girls from Desil looks to be interested in Hyunwoo," she says as she pours their cups. She hands the first one to Minhyuk. "She's a beauty. Very intelligent."

Minhyuk can imagine. They don't have particularly strong ties to the islands of the far south but they are known for their superior educational system numerous achievements in the medical field.

"Do you think they'll get together?" he asks. It's hard to picture Hyunwoo in a relationship, although Minhyuk also doesn't know what kind of man Hyunwoo is. They haven't spent quality time together in years. He could be a great romanticist for all Minhyuk knows.

Taking a sip of her tea, his mother hums thoughtfully. "It's hard to say. Hyunwoo was whisked around here and there the entire night. I do believe they exchanged numbers, though, so we'll see."

Minhyuk gives a small hum of his own around another taste of the sweet, having nothing more to offer.

"You used to go out with Hoseok often. I'm sure in those adventures there must have been a woman who caught your eye." Heeyoung places her cup down and buries her hands in the softness of her chosen pillow.

Raising an eyebrow and placing his half-eaten treat down on an empty corner of plastic wrap, Minhyuk trails a finger along the rim of his cup. His bracelet slips down his wrist to his elbow and he stares at it as he answers, "I don't have the luxury of forming those kinds of relationships, if you haven't noticed. And women aren't really on my mind either."

The Queen sighs. "I suppose you're right." She reaches for her tea again. "Speaking of...do you remember Seola? That one Lieutenant’s daughter?"

How could he forget? Granted, she's of no relevance to him now but he wouldn't forget his father attempting to use him to appease one of his officers.

"She eloped with her boyfriend to Nadir. The Lieutenant is furious, of course, but it's for the best."

"Oh, really?" They were merely strangers brought together over idiotic reasons but he's happy for her. At least one of them is getting out of a bad environment.

A quiet knock on the door interrupts their chat and the Queen straightens her back before allowing the attendee outside to enter.

Boa bows her head politely to both the Queen and Minhyuk. "My apologies for interrupting, but the Queen of Nadir has called to discuss the details of your trip before departure."

The Queen nods and looks to Minhyuk with regret in her eyes. "I'll be back. Would you like me to order you something to eat while I'm away?"

Shaking his head, Minhyuk ushers for her to go. "I have cookies. I'll be fine," he answers with a light smile.

As soon as the door closes behind her, it drops. Propping his elbow up on the table, Minhyuk rests his chin in his palm and pokes at the cookie he left unfinished.

Exhaustion rushes in with the absence of his mother and the desire to return to his room returns. His mother would surely expect him to remain there until the end of her call, however long that may be, but even sitting there for a few seconds alone makes Minhyuk want to get up and leave.

It's all so tedious — the games they play — just the same thing over and over and over again. Maybe Changkyun is right; maybe they would disown him before making him feel like a part of the family — or better yet, someone deserving of respect as a human being.

Minhyuk has to admit there is some appeal there, to being free. He has no interest in the crown, doesn't think it belongs to him like Hoseok seems to. He could get his own place, find a job, and let his 'family' do whatever they want. And he doubts anyone other than his mother would care enough to miss him. Maybe Hyunwoo would, deep down, but that could also just be Minhyuk hoping he has a bigger impact on the people in his life that he probably does.

Nothing would be lost. He could go wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and wouldn't have to wear a mask. He could see his friends freely, wouldn't have to risk breaking his leg to visit Hyungwon. He could offer Hyungwon a place to feel comfortable in like Kihyun can.

Sitting up, Minhyuk reaches for his tea and, finding it already a degree above lukewarm, swallows it down. Replacing the cup on the table, he picks up his forgotten cookie next and stands.

He doesn't want to be here anymore. He can apologize for leaving later.

Shoving the last chunk of the sweet into his mouth, Minhyuk sweeps his eyes around the room and makes sure there's nothing that can catch sudden fire if left unattended.

The electric kettle is off, there are no candles lit, he should probably rewrap the cookies so they don't harden... His check is interrupted when his gaze brushes over a binder sitting atop of the many short cabinets.

Wiping at a spot of crumbs at the corner of his mouth, Minhyuk stumbles through the sea of pillows over to it. It's of black, hard plastic and, looking at it closer, he can see it's a photo album.

Flipping it open, he's immediately transported back to his childhood. There are pictures of he and Hyunwoo looking miserable in their private lessons, pictures of him and his mother working out in the garden, pictures of Hyunwoo sparing with his personal defense trainer. But, for some reason, many sleeves toward the front of the book — in the section that looks like it's dedicated to their early childhood — are empty.

Minhyuk stares at a picture of an infant Hyunwoo in his mother's arms, his brother smiling wide and toothless and free. He doesn't really smile that anymore.

It's interesting to see how his brother has grown over the years, how's he's grown into his body but never lost the chubbiness in his cheeks. It's easy to not notice how amazing growth is, how the body changes over time - how a person changes over time.

"Why aren't there any of me that young?" Minhyuk wonders to himself as he realizes that the earliest pictures of him start when he's around four or five years old.

His development isn't as interesting, considering he remembers well how he went from smiling child to angry teen and hasn't changed much past that. But it would be nice to see images from a time he was too young to remember, to see his mother's adoring grin as she held her youngest son in her hands. To see if there was ever a time when his father didn't hate him.

He doesn't flip all the way, becoming disinterested quick with the number of missing pictures. He makes a small mental note to ask his mother about them later, but as soon as he closes the album and traverses the quicksand that is her tea room, the thought is filed away to the very back of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry you've had to sit through 38000 words of nothing but i promise from now on there will be actual progress. for your benefit, i cut out more of my unnecessarily detailed insight into every piece of minhyuk's mind


	9. i.ix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning you now that this chapter is kind of a ride. it's also probably my favorite (but not as well written)

Minhyuk used to worry about his mother's habit of haunting the halls like a phantom, her spindly form aimlessly traveling up their long lengths with faraway eyes that spoke of an unexplainable anguish. Yet, as he lounges slumped in one of the sticky, leather chairs of the foyer, he wonders if that wouldn't be better than what he's doing now, has been doing for a day and some hours now. He hasn't checked the time in the while, hasn't the energy to lift his head or swipe his gaze across the room in search of a clock.

His eyelids flutter erratically as he battles to keep his eyes open. An exhaustion that feels like resignation weighs heavy on his bones and more than once he forgets that he's human and not made of lead, made of concrete, made of steel.

_"Did I worry you?" Hyungwon asked softly, his voice as thin and airy as the breeze tickling bright green leaves across the street. He slid his feet into a pair of sandals that Kihyun forced into his hands not even five minutes ago. A petulant pout sweetened his face as he wiggled his toes, but he didn't complain._

_Minhyuk raised his eyebrow in question. He followed Hyungwon out of the door of the restaurant cum single family home, waving goodbye to Kihyun who reminded Hyungwon to call home if he was going to be late or if he decided not the stay._

_"I can see it on your face." Hyungwon lead them down the street to the fair he wanted to go to. He said it shouldn't take more than fifteen minutes to get to the stretch of street where it was taking place and Minhyuk didn't tell him that he didn't care how long it would take as long a genuine smile ended up on the younger boy's face for even just a short second. "I'm sorry."_

_Minhyuk apologized too. He didn't know why. Maybe it was out of guilt for eavesdropping on Hyungwon's personal demons. "I didn't know you were hurting."_

_"It's not as bad as I make it seem...most days. It's more that it's always lingering there but doesn't bubble to the surface until something reminds me of..."_

_Your mom? Minhyuk wanted to ask except he knew to keep his mouth shut._

_But Hyungwon's words resonated with him. Without context, it seemed like they were going through the same thing._

_"Are you sure you still want to go to the fair with me instead of being with your family?"_

_Hyungwon's eyes went wide at the reference of Kihyun and his mother as his family but then a light smile stretched across his face. "I could go to the fair with them if I wanted to but I don't. I invited you out for a reason."_

_Minhyuk's brows furrowed with his confusion. "And what is it?"_

_Hyungwon's laugh was twinkling but also somewhat teasing as he answered, "because I wanted to see you."_

"Your Highness?"

Minhyuk waits for the sound of Hyunwoo's voice in response but when it doesn't come, he peels his eyes open. A heavy sigh rattles his chest when he eyes come to focus on Junhong. He doesn't need the boy to open his mouth to drag himself up to his feet.

"In his study?" he questions blandly and clicks his tongue when Junhong nods.

"Yes, Your Highness."

He dismisses Junhong with a polite 'thank you', remembering his poor treatment of the other boy the last time he was sent to call on Minhyuk.

He takes his time traveling up to the fourth floor to the King's study, finding no reason to rush when he knows the reason for his summoning is most likely nothing of importance.

When he strolls into the gaudy room, he is vaguely surprised to see that Advisor Ahn is not also standing by his father's side. The two took the concept of a right hand man to an outstanding high and if Minhyuk was completely uncaring of such dangerous politics, he would laugh at how he couldn't tell who was the pet and who was yanking the leash.

The king looks up from the loose sheets of paper spread over his desk at him, scanning him from head to toe before shaking his head. His eyebrows are already a tight line above fierce eyes.

Normally, Minhyuk would be a hurricane of emotions - of annoyance, of anger, of hurt - but now, despite feeling like a misplaced item never found, Minhyuk's head is free of turmoil.

At peace and at war.

Ultimately, empty.

"I'm sure you enjoyed your stay in the city wasting our money doing nothing but hiding your face," the King says, tone lacking the hostility threaded deep in his words.

It's the usual bait, a dangerous worm dangling between Minhyuk's eyes, but he hardly reacts to it. There's no point. It's always the same dance and Minhyuk doesn't want to be on the dance floor today.

_Beside a fortune teller was a stall selling handmade jewelry and Minhyuk let Hyungwon tug him over to it. Upon the table was a beautiful bouquet of white lilies and red roses standing behind a small photo of a grinning man._

_“These are wonderful,” Hyungwon commented as he looked over the wares._

_Minhyuk nodded his agreement. The construction of the beaded jewelry wasn’t as perfect as it would be coming from a factory line but there was still a hard earned beauty in everything for purchase._

_The creator, a tiny woman with deep laugh lines and a voice like chocolate, thanked them genuinely._

_Minhyuk picked up a pair of earrings, just simple black beads on a post. He had a lot of jewelry that he never wore, and while he didn't need to add to the number, he considered it._

_“Minhyuk.”_

_He lifted his head at the call of his name and tried not to flinch when Hyungwon reached for his face._

_The younger boy flattened his palm against Minhyuk’s forehead under his bangs and gently pushed his hair up._

_“What are you doing?” It was a simple touch and yet Minhyuk felt oddly threatened._

_Hyungwon raised his other hand then, holding up a chain of sandy colored beads to Minhyuk’s temple. His lips spread into a smile. “Perfect.”_

_Minhyuk brows bunched, eliciting a sugary laugh from the other boy. “What’s perfect?”_

_Lowering his hand, Hyungwon properly showed Minhyuk the bracelet. “The color. I couldn’t figure out why it reminded me of you. It matches your hair color.”_

_He was comparing it to his eyebrows, Minhyuk realized as he fixed his hair. “Ah, yeah, I guess it does.”_

_Hyungwon slipped the bracelet over his wrist. He returned his attention to the table again, scanning the jewelry with his lips pursed. “Oh!” He plucked another bracelet from amongst the selection and showed it to Minhyuk who understood immediately._

_Minhyuk was terribly fond of Hyungwon’s eyes and while the beads, a marble mix of a deep forest green and a light tan, were pretty, they were nothing compared to the real thing. He wasn’t sure anything would be._

_“Do you like it?”_

_Minhyuk nodded and was rewarded with a sunny grin. A light feeling that took him by surprise swished around in his stomach. He hadn’t felt hungry all day, but maybe he should have put in more effort to eat. Or maybe he was coming down with something._

_Hyungwon turned to the woman behind the stall. “I’ll take these,” he said, already setting the bracelet down in order to retrieve his wallet._

_The woman smiled at him gratefully. “Thank you so much. I really appreciate it. My husband recently passed,” she glanced down at the photo and bouquet, smile turning sorrowful, “and I would like to have a ceremony.”_

_Both Minhyuk and Hyungwon relayed their condolences with smalll bows of their heads._

_“May I?” Hyungwon gestured to the small memorial and upon a small, confused nod from the woman, reached for the flowers. He trailed his fingers along the petals, the stems before uttering a short prayer to the Fates under his breath. “I hope they last until you can send him off.”_

_As they walked away from the stall, Hyungwon closed his hand around Minhyuk’s wrist and lifted his arm. Over his fingers, Hyungwon slid on the green bracelet and then help up his own arm holding the pale tan bracelet._

_“They look good together,” Hyungwon commented._

_Minhyuk’s stomach dropped again. He ignored it. “Yeah, they do.”_

Shrugging, Minhyuk shakes himself out of his thoughts. He drops form and rests his weight on his right side. "Yeah, it was nice," he replies plainly, not realizing his fingers have risen to fiddle with the beads of his bracelet.

The King, on the other hand, does notice. “Always picking up pieces of junk, aren’t you?”

Minhyuk sighs and stares down his father’s weathered face with bored eyes. If it were any other day, he would have stormed out by now. No matter its monetary worth, Minhyuk knows the jewelry is so much more than a piece of junk even if he doesn’t quite understand its emotional value to himself or to Hyungwon.

“I suppose,” he says to his father’s obvious surprise. “I don’t imagine you called me here to talk about my shopping choices, Your Majesty.”

He doesn’t remember the last time he called his father by his title, hating the idea of legitimizing the role of the man who is trying to downplay their heritage and spark playground fights with their neighboring kingdoms, but lately it has felt less like acceptance and more like distance.

And distance feels enough like control to make Minhyuk crave it.

At his nonchalance, the King leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. His eyes narrow. “What is the Queen doing in Nadir?”

An expression that says he has no idea why they’re having this conversation etches itself on Minhyuk’s face. “Whatever women do at resorts?” Speaking of, a massage sounds like a great idea; he’s too tense.

“Do not act ignorant with me, Minhyuk. She has been very adamant about this trip and also quite secretive about it. You talked with her before she left. What is she doing in Nadir?” The King’s voice gets stressed, like his vocal cords are a string pulled tight, tense like Minhyuk’s shoulders.

Some days, the days where Minhyuk doesn’t dismiss the King as his father, he wonders if the man before him is where he got his temper from.

Sighing again, Minhyuk stops playing with his bracelet and fits his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He doesn’t flinch when his father slams balled fists down on his cluttered desk, papers crinkling and shifting.

“Don’t play games with me,” the King growls, fire lighting his eyes. “I know you know.”

“Look, I don’t know and I honestly couldn’t care less about what she’s doing. But if you’re so worried about it, maybe you should think about why she doesn’t trust you,” Minhyuk says flatly. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, if this is the most exciting thing you have to say to me, then I’m leaving”

He turns his back to the other man but doesn’t take more than two steps for the exit before the King is huffing out a condescending laugh behind him.

“You think you can patronize me when you know nothing? You’re running on borrowed time, kid.”

_"I overheard my dad talking with someone on the phone as we drove back from the airport and, unless it was completely unavoidable, I think they'd disown you faster than they'd fully acknowledge you as a member of the family._

Pausing for a second, Minhyuk turns over his shoulder with a sardonic smile.

“Can’t wait until it runs out.”

 

Thick, grey clouds roll in quick and bring with them thunder that shakes the earth and endless rain.

Minhyuk tips back in his chair, his jaw working at a piece of mint gum. Across from him Hyunwoo sits properly with his hands folded on the table.

Every line of his brother's pressed white shirt and solid black blazer is perfect, a stark contrast to Minhyuk's lazy ensemble of a navy t-shirt with time faded words and sweatpants. Minhyuk's hair falls messily over his brow, his natural dirty blond finally showing through the fading dye. Hopefully after a few more washes, it'll be out completely.

"Now that everyone is present, we will commence this short meeting," Advisor Ahn announces from the front and center of the conference room. "Minhyuk," he waits until the boy looks over with a raised eyebrow, "please put your chair down."

Popping his gum, Minhyuk adjusts his weight until the front legs of his chair touch the carpeted floor before immediately leaning back again. He doesn't say anything, silently challenging his father's right hand man to waste time and nitpick.

He should be better behaved but just sitting there, in a meeting that apparently can't wait until the return of his mother, and looking at everyone is making him mad. Turning his head away, Minhyuk stares at a spot above Hyunwoo's head and sucks in a deep, fragile breath.

His fingers are twitchy where they lightly grasp the edge of the table before him to keep himself from losing balance. After feeling like he was deep underwater for little more than half a week, far removed from reality with nothing but himself and the water-muffled sounds of life continuing around him, he woke up that morning seeing red.

It was a comfortable feeling, like welcoming an old friend home, and that's what scares Minhyuk the most -- not the rage itself, but the fact that it's such an integral part of who he is. A part he'll probably never be able to get rid of completely.

Advisor Ahn sighs but doesn't fight him further, turning his attention to the others filling the room. "The purpose of this meeting is to discuss Minhyuk's isolation and the growing issue with the public."

Out of the corner of his eye, Minhyuk can see multiple people turn to him but not for a second does he move his eyes from the wall.

"In an earlier meeting, we agreed that it appears attention has moved off of him again. There were a few questions brought up during Prince Hyunwoo's tour but, in general, the greater public has once again put their theories to rest. As such, I propose it acceptable to allow end to Minhyuk's house arrest," says Ahn.

And it's nothing, really -- on an ordinary day, he probably wouldn't have thought anything of it -- but being addressed without a proper title like Hyunwoo brings Minhyuk right to the edge.

Like he has weights tied to each individual eyelash, he blinks slowly. His eyes glide down the wall and over Hyunwoo's face. He only gets a glimpse of the concern in the older man's gaze before Advisor Ahn is standing in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Minhyuk, are you liste --"

When he thinks back on it later, he'll realize it was that concern that set him off.

Minhyuk's chair clatters to the floor when he stands abruptly. There isn't a second for anyone to properly react before his hand is curled tight in Ahn's cleanly pressed shirt collar.

He wishes he could find joy in the way the man cowers in his grip, eyes closing on reflex.

Minhyuk doesn't get to hit him like he wants. Someone grabs his fist on the drawback and he lets it happen, not so far gone as to lose all of his rationality.

Advisor Ahn peels his eyes open gingerly and flinches when he sees Minhyuk staring him down blankly.

"Minhyuk," comes a placating voice that he can't identify, everything sounding like radio static, "let him go."

Bucking forward just to see Ahn curl in on himself, Minhyuk unfurls his hand and releases the man. He yanks his other arm out of the hold it was in and backs away from the table. He shoves his heel into his chair, kicking it into the wall behind him, and steps through the frantic group of advisors and out of the meeting room.

There are decorative vases lining the hall and Minhyuk grabs one sitting right outside the door, juggling it in his hands to test its weight before he hurls it at another. The glass shatters upon impact and falls in pretty crystalline shards.

Before he reaches the stairs, a staff member is rushing over to see what has happened. He stops once his eyes meet Minhyuk's and his words audibly get caught in his throat as he obviously wonders if it'll be okay to question what has happened.

Minhyuk walks straight by him, not sparing him a second glance as he glides down the stairs with quick steps.

 

"You're getting wet."

"Am I? I haven't noticed."

Sanghyuk heaves a sigh but still steps out onto the terrace. The downpour pounding at Minhyuk's back with heavy drops stops suddenly, the pitter patter of the rain against an umbrella filling the space between them.

Minhyuk gives a sigh of his own and buries his face further into his folded legs. His hands are clenched in anger at his feet, although this time it's directed at himself. The wild fire is always extinguished as quickly as it bursts; the regret that rushes in to fill the emotional void lingers for much longer.

It was going to happen eventually and he knew it. But that was the worst possible place and time to lose his temper over nothing. The council already doesn't look at him favorably and almost punching Ahn surely isn't going to make anything better. Especially when they were telling him good news.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

The greatest thing about Sanghyuk is that he gets it. Kind of. Like any of the other junior staff who weren't around when Minhyuk was at his worst, he doesn't know that Minhyuk is both a star dying and a phoenix, working himself up to a grand explosion only to pull himself together and do it all over again. But he understands that sometimes Minhyuk doesn't want a poetic pep talk.

"You're going to catch a cold."

"Probably."

Sanghyuk taps his fingers along the handle of the umbrella and then stops. "I'm going to be really annoyed if I catch one too."

"No one told you to come out here."

Silence settles over them and Minhyuk is too caught up in himself to feel bad about shutting Sanghyuk out with his clipped answers.

He'll have to apologize to everyone at some point and the thought of bowing his head to people who wouldn't notice if he disappeared is annoying.

He should have hit Ahn anyway. At least then, when he finished working through the self-hate, a bit of satisfaction would still remain.

Sanghyuk begins stuttering next to him, shifting where he stands over Minhyuk. "O-Oh…Good afternoon, Your Highness."

"Please leave us alone."

It's Hyunwoo. As if Minhyuk couldn't feel any more tired.

Groaning, Minhyuk finally raises his head. Relaxing his hands and feeling a sting as his nails leave his skin, he cards his fingers through his hair, pushing the dripping strands off his face.

"If you're going to give me one of your usual lectures on image and propriety, you can keep it," he says, leaning back on his palms and staring out toward the garden.

In his mother's absence, her flowers look lonely.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," Hyunwoo replies.

Under the rain again, Minhyuk starts to feel a chill despite the warm summer air. "All of a sudden? After not giving a fuck about me for years? If His Majesty wants to see me or the council changed their mind, you can just say so without the extra fluff."

Hyunwoo moves closer, until his dress shoes are fully in Minhyuk's peripherals. He sits with a small grunt, holding his own umbrella between the two of them.

"That's honestly not why I'm here." Hyunwoo looks too big huddled there, body tucked in under the umbrella to stay dry. "I promise."

"You don't have to promise me anything," Minhyuk sighs. "Being the crown prince doesn't mean you have to expend energy to pretend to care about me. I'm not an ordinary citizen you have to convince to like you."

Hyunwoo is quite for a moment and then he asks, "Minhyuk, do you hate me?"

At the moment, Minhyuk thinks he hates everyone just a little bit.

“No,” he answers. “I don’t like you most of the time but I don’t hate you, no.”

“Why don’t you like me?”

Minhyuk blinks, his eyelashes tangling in fat droplets. Turning his head, he looks at the older man for the first time since he came outside. Hyunwoo stares back at him with earnest curiosity.

Minhyuk isn’t sure how he feels about the sudden interest. It does feel a little too late, though.

Swiping his tongue over his lips, Minhyuk tastes the rainwater. “Because you lack empathy,” he says plainly.

“I don’t—”

A shudder rips through Minhyuk’s body so he sits up and pulls his legs in. “You never bothered with understanding me before.” Moving out of the way of the umbrella, he stands up. He casts a blank gaze at the crown prince. “Don’t feel like you have to start now.”

Hyunwoo scrambles to stand as well. “Am I not allowed to be genuinely worried about you? You _are_ my brother.”

Pivoting, Minhyuk starts toward the door, biting back a grimace at how slimy his feet feel in his soaked socks and shoes. “Really? Because everyone in this place does a great job of making me feel like I’m not.” He stops at the door, tossing around the decision to say something else — something open and accepting of Hyunwoo’s supposed growth of a heart — but ultimately sighs and continues into the House, not stopping for anyone until he’s in the quiet of his room.

  

_Have you ever just wanted to run away?_

Minhyuk's phone vibrates in his hand hardly a second after the minuscule script pops up next to his message, informing him that it's been read. He stares at the name in bold at the top of the screen, wondering if it's too late to pretend the message was a strange slip of the fingers. The product of his fever short circuiting his brain and his fingers creating words without direction.

No matter his regrets, he answers the call, turning on the speakerphone option before deciding against it and bringing the phone to his ear.

"Hi?" he greets quietly, voice not as thick with sickness as it was a day ago. He directs his eyes to the ceiling, barely seeing the thin, gold lines embossed in wide arcs in the low lighting of his room.

He's been cooped up there for three days, hardly leaving except to wander the halls when he gets too restless. A cold rushed in faster than he thought it would, fogging his head and clogging his sinuses. It’s not so bad now, aside from the fever that refuses to break. He’s cherishing his Minhyuk time and, thankfully, no one has come to drag him out of it yet.

There's a lot of noise in the background on the other end of the call -- yelling, clattering, singing. And then a sleepy voice is breaking through it all, silencing everything.

"Good evening. ...Sorry about how loud it is. Late dinner rush."

Minhyuk lifts a hand to trace the lines above him, his pointing finger dancing as it lazily follows one corner to the other. His bracelet slips down his arm "Are you working?"

Hyungwon's hum is low. "No, I'm just sitting around, thinking. Like you."

"What are you thinking about?" Minhyuk asks, blinking furiously when his eyes start to blur out of focus. His arm is already starting to tire from being held up.

"Where do you want to run away to?"

Minhyuk lets his arm fall with a sigh. "I wasn't being serious."

"Then, if you could go anywhere in the world, where would you want to go?" Hyungwon questions.

Rolling onto his side, Minhyuk tucks his legs into his chest. He ponders the question. It's not one he's put much thought into before. As he considers nearby kingdoms and foreign lands, he notices as the noise of Hyungwon's surroundings fades out.

"I heard the North Sea is beautiful in the summer," Hyungwon says, the click of a door sounding in the middle of his words. "Or the jungles of Omei. Although I guess being surrounded by so much life would be a little overwhelming for me."

Minhyuk can't imagine Hyungwon in either of those places, can't really imagine Hyungwon anywhere other than his secluded spot in the Forest.

"Your garden is already like a jungle," he says, smiling softly into the darkness of his bedspread.

"It is not, but I'll take that as a compliment."

Minhyuk chuckles at Hyungwon's affronted tone but his smile quickly falls.

"I don't know where I'd go. Anywhere that's not here."

Hyungwon doesn't immediately answer and Minhyuk listens to the younger boy's soft exhales, unknowingly matching his labored own to them.

"Then you can come to the jungle with me. We can set up a little camp and just...escape."

Minhyuk shifts, dragging a pillow down to his level and burying half of his face in its softness. "What are you escaping from?" He slips his eyes shut and focuses on the other boy. His voice is nice to listen to, soft and low like a lullaby.

Hyungwon hums again. "Broken promises."

Minhyuk nods lethargically even though he can't be seen. He completely understands that feeling.

"...Expectations," Hyungwon continues. "The past...the undetermined..."

The rest of Hyungwon's words fall on an ear no longer listening. 

_I guessed you fell asleep so I hung up. You're welcome to intrude on my 'jungle' while I'm away but I'll probably go back soon anyway. Good night :)_

 

“Do you like strawberries?” Minhyuk holds up a hard paper drink carrier, a plastic cup full of red slush sitting snug in one of its holes beside another filled with a similar drink of orange. “Or mangoes?”

He takes a seat in front of the sunflowers, setting the drink carrier down in the dirt next to a pale ankle circled by a pretty gold band. This close to it, it looks like real gold and there’s a dizzying but delicate pattern of swirls etched into it. He watches as the toes on that foot point and curl in a stretch before going still.

Hyungwon is slow to blink his eyes open and he doesn't do so without a groan. He starts to rolls over but Minhyuk catches him with a gentle hand on the small of his back before he can flatten the gathering of flowers there. "What are you doing here?" he asks, lifting a hand of his own to rub at his eyes as he pushes himself up to sit with his legs outstretched to the side and his angled torso held up by a thin arm. "How did you know I was back?"

Minhyuk reaches out to pluck a blade of grass from where it stuck itself to the younger boy's cheek. "I didn't," he answers, letting the grass float back to earth. "But you told me that I was allowed to come if I wanted so here I am."

Squinting one eye open, Hyungwon looks down at the drink carrier sitting by his feet. "With two drinks?"

Bashfully rubbing at the back of his neck, Minhyuk shrugs. "It's hot. I could get thirsty."

"Or you were hoping I was here," Hyungwon says, teasing but with a strange amount of certainty. Bringing his legs in and folding them before him, he brings the carrier closer. "You didn't bring anything to eat?"

Minhyuk allows him to pull the mango slush out of the carrier before taking the leftover strawberry drink for himself. "Maybe I already ate and wasn't hoping that you'd be here."

And it's kind of the truth - he wasn't actively hoping Hyungwon would be here; he just automatically assumed he would be. As if it wasn't possible for Minhyuk to be at the small cabin without Hyungwon being there as well. As if the two were a package deal.

Smiling his usual smile - the I don't believe you smile Hyungwon bends the lime green straw poking through the flat top of his drink and takes a sip.

“You're wearing it." He glances down and points at Minhyuk's wrist after placing down the cup by his side. "I couldn't tell if you liked it or not."

Minhyuk covers the bracelet with his hand as if to hide it. "But you're not wearing yours," he notices.

Hyungwon's smile turns strained. "There's something I have to do before I put it on." He trails a finger along the circumference of his cup, nibbling on his lip. "Actually...will you help me with something? I was going to wait until this evening but I think having someone here will keep me grounded."

Minhyuk frowns. "What is it?"

Eyes drifting shut, Hyungwon inhales deeply as a light breeze sweeps through the garden. "Something I should have done years ago."

 

Minhyuk waits in the garden as Hyungwon runs in to his cabin. He slips his shoes off and stuffs his socks into them. With the earth beneath his feet, he wanders around as he nurses his drink. Hyungwon made walking around barefooted and always being connected with nature out to be a nearly spiritual experience. The cobblestone path feels fine under his feet, as do the squares of dirt not yet touched by seeds, but it errs on uncomfortable. The stones are jagged and dig into his feet; the dirt is grainy and unpleasant unlike sand.

Chewing on his straw, he stops by the square of mulch reserved for the snapdragons. They've been cleaned up, the dead flowers trimmed and some obviously pulled up. He remembers that Hyungwon said they were his favorite and he wonders why.

"Minhyuk?"

Immediately, Minhyuk perks up and turns over his shoulder. "Yeah?" He moves through the garden until he reaches the spread of sunflowers and Hyungwon who is on his knees before them, picking off dead leaves Minhyuk didn't notice when they were seated there earlier.

At the younger boy's side is an open shoebox, filled nearly halfway with white square envelopes, and a jug of water.

Hyungwon exhales heavily as he takes a moment for himself. "You have to get it together, Chae. You already ruined the gardenias."

"What's all of this?"

Flinching with a sharp gasp, Hyungwon pops his head up to look at Minhyuk standing off to the side. "Oh! I didn't notice you came back." Jumping up, he wipes his hands on the front of his shirt and gestures to the box. "Can you carry my smoothie? We need to move out into the forest a little."

Minhyuk offers to put the drinks in the carrier so he can help Hyungwon carry the water but Hyungwon waves him off and squeezes the shoebox under his arm before picking up the jug.

"I would do this in the fireplace," Hyungwon explains as they leave his garden and begin to separate from his cabin, taking a path through the trees rather than along the cobble walkway, "but it's better that I put some distance between me and that place."

Minhyuk watches him silently for a few seconds longer and when it seems like Hyungwon isn't going to continue, opens his mouth. "Why don't you stay with the Yoos permanently if you don't like it here?"

Stopping short, Hyungwon blinks. He doesn't move, doesn't turn to look at Minhyuk, and the prince wonders if he said something he shouldn't have.

After a minute, Hyungwon begins to walk again. "To put it shortly, it's because I'm weak and don't know how to let go."

"Oh," is all Minhyuk can muster.

Hyungwon hums.

And like that conversation between them peters out, leaving the shifting of dirt beneath their feet.

Hyungwon takes them to a small clearing some three minutes away, a collection of thin blocks of wood gathered away from the trees surrounded by a circle of large, blocky stones. He sets down his load by the small pyramid of wood and drops to his knees beside it. Minhyuk lingers by his side, watching as Hyungwon rifles through the envelopes and pulls out a lighter and a folded newspaper.

He straightens the newspaper and separates the pages, crumpling some into jagged balls. He fits two of the paper balls in the space beneath the wood and lights a third, which quickly joins them, on fire. Hyungwon's eyes never leave the budding fire, not even when Minhyuk shuffles away to leave their drinks under a tree.

"There's no turning back, Hyungwon," the younger boy is once again mumbling to himself when Minhyuk returns to his side. "You can't regret this afterward."

He ruffles his hair, frustrated, and glances up at Minhyuk. "I promise this is the last time you'll see me like this."

Minhyuk's lips flatten. "Don't promise me that. I don't want to see you happy if it's fake," he grinds out, almost offended. "You don't owe me that, Hyungwon. You don't owe anyone that. You may not want to share details of what's hurting you with me and I may not be able to help like your family can, but I want you to promise me that you at least won't hide your true emotions from me."

His words shock Hyungwon whose eyes widen and mouth pops open. But Minhyuk waits, gaze unwavering from Hyungwon's own, until the younger boy presses his lips together and nods once slowly.

"Okay."

Minhyuk nods as well, satisfied with that much. He glances at the fire and tells Hyungwon that he should probably add more paper to it. "Is there anything I can help with?" He looks between the fire and the box.

"Sit," Hyungwon softly orders as he tosses paper at the base of the fire. After Minhyuk does so, he reaches across him and takes the box into his lap. "And don't let me stop before all of these are gone."

There are so many envelopes, all of them addressed to some place in the south and none of them with return information. Minhyuk doesn't plan to ask what they are so he is surprised when Hyungwon lifts one out and holds it up between two fingers.

"They're from my mother," he says. "She used to write me often when I still lived in the orphanage."

Minhyuk sucks in a breath at that reveal, not expecting it when he had assumed Hyungwon's memories of her expressing her desire to take him back one day to be from the last day he saw her before he was abandoned. And suddenly the hurt makes so much more sense. If he had been left alone physically but still given an emotional connection, only to still be alone over fifteen years later, he'd feel betrayed as well.

Hyungwon tosses the envelope into the fire but doesn't watch it burn, eyes turned down on the box sitting on his thighs. "I don't even know why I kept all of them for so long," he scoffs out a brittle laugh missing any bit of amusement, "because I stopped reading them years ago."

"She gave you hope," Minhyuk utters quietly.

Hyungwon flicks another letter into the fire and then a third and a fourth. He inhales and Minhyuk can clearly hear the way it rattles when he sighs the breath out.

"She did," he says after another deep breath and grabs multiple letters. He raises his head, eyes glittering with building tears. This time, he watches the way the heat slowly takes over the frail paper until it's nothing but ash. "And I believed in her like an idiot." The stability in his voice shatters like glass but he doesn't stop ridding himself of his demons, clutching more letters in his grasp each time he digs into the box.

Minhyuk's fingers twitch, his hand itching to reach out to comfort the other boy. He resists. "You're not. Anyone would trust that feeling."

But then the first streams of heartbreak pour over Hyungwon's cheeks and Minhyuk takes the box from him.

"Minhyuk, I have to-"

"I'm not stopping you," he promises as he takes Hyungwon's hands in his own.

Hyungwon stares at him, bottom lip wobbling as his eyes frantically scan over Minhyuk's face, and whatever he sees makes him yank his hands from Minhyuk's and throw them over the older man's shoulders.

Automatically, Minhyuk's arms rise to cradle his head and back as Hyungwon buries his face in his neck. He bites down hard into his lip, rubbing light circles into the space between Hyungwon's shoulder blades even as his own eyes sting.

He doesn't shush him, doesn't give him sweet words; all he gives Hyungwon is the solid rock he needs, the confirmation that he isn't as alone as he feels.

And when tears trickle from his eyes in solidarity, Minhyuk swallows every noise of sadness he threatens to make.

"It's not fair!" Hyungwon tightens his grip around Minhyuk's neck, clutching the collar of his shirt like a lifeline. "It's not fair that I can't even hate her! It's not fair that I can't hate y..." His words are garbled under a broken sob.

This was what he wanted, wasn't it? For Hyungwon to open up to him and reveal the boy behind the mystery? But it wasn't supposed to hurt so much, wasn't supposed to rip Minhyuk's heart to shreds.

Minhyuk doesn't know how many minutes pass before Hyungwon calms, releasing Minhyuk's neck to wipe at his eyes.

"I'm...Thank you," he mumbles, stretching out his hand and rubbing a thumb under Minhyuk's right eye. "You didn't have to do that for me."

Minhyuk hates the pink twinge to Hyungwon's sclera, never wants to see it again. More than that, he hates the way the brief excess of emotion makes him short-circuit...makes his stomach twist and heart beat out of time. "I wanted to." He moves Hyungwon's hand from his face and dries it on his own.

Hyungwon picks up the box again, eying the number of envelopes left. He plucks them out individually until the remaining ten left are in his hand. Standing, he shuffles to the fire, the grass around them browning, and lifts them over the wild flame.

He doesn't watch them burn; instead, he turns his back to the fire and walks toward Minhyuk. Bending over, he slips off his anklet and drops it to the ground.

"I told you this before, Minhyuk." Sniffling, Hyungwon takes the last item out of the box - the glass bead bracelet. He holds it lightly in two hands as he stares at his anklet laying the grass between them. "Don't let your 'family' take advantage of you." Then, he bends his leg, the same one that wore the anklet, and guides the bracelet over his foot. It's loose, but not enough so that it may slip off.

"Because you'll end up like me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have a [deleted scene](https://at-tostitos.tumblr.com/post/168528934115/deleted-scenes-flower-child-8) from their trip to the fair (date*) that i didn't write in ch. 7


	10. i.x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (starts immediately following the last chapter)
> 
> we're reaching peak softness and love as we reach hyungwon's pov
> 
> i'm going to be working on this fic and only this for a while so hopefully i can update faster before you all get tired of me and my posting schedule lmao

"Tell me what it's like being the second prince."

Minhyuk looks over at Hyungwon, the younger boy fiddling with the straw of his drink. The fire casts an amber glow over his melancholy and it may be an inappropriate time for such thoughts, but Minhyuk is mesmerized by the halo that spreads around his friend, highlighting him like the sunrise pouring over the horizon and banishing the dark. Looking at him, the fat under his eyes swollen and his nose a stressed pink, makes Minhyuk's heart hurt.

Makes him angry.

Hyungwon said he didn't — couldn't — hate his mother but Minhyuk thinks he can hold enough contempt for her for the both of them. Minhyuk isn't like Hyungwon, isn't beautiful inside and out; he finds that he has no problem with hating a person he's never met before and who has done him no personal wrong. He wonders if that makes him a bad person. He wonders if Hyungwon would look at him with downturned eyes and a disappointed frown if he knew.

That thought makes Minhyuk's heart hurt too.

"There isn't much to tell," Minhyuk says, turning his attention to the fire burning across from them.

From where they're sitting, up against the thickest tree around the circumference of the clearing and close enough that their arms never separate, he can still see Hyungwon's gold anklet lying in the grass. Abandoned. The symbolism is not lost on Minhyuk. Hyungwon will probably pick it up when they return to his cottage but for now he has abandoned his mother the way she abandoned him.

"No one who isn't in some way connected to the House other than you knows. The King has never hidden the fact that he hates me. Prince Hyunwoo and I haven't been close since we were kids. The Queen..." Sighing, Minhyuk tilts his head up to the sky and watches fat clouds drift by. "The Queen is the only one who cares about me as a person but she's also hiding something from me."

Hyungwon taps his straw against his lips, still watching the fire that'll soon need more wood. "I have an older brother," he says quietly, as if he's broaching a topic he's not sure if he should bring up. "It's a shame I'll never know the kind of man he's become."

Minhyuk blinks and brings his head down as surprise paints its way across his face. There's still so much to learn about Hyungwon, so much he doesn't know.

"Was he...adopted without you?" he asks with care, unsure of the sensitivity Hyungwon requires surrounding his brother.

Closing his lips around the tip of the straw, Hyungwon sucks a long drink of his smoothie. With the straw brushing against his front teeth, he answers: "He wasn't given away. My mother used to tell me stories about him in her earlier letters but I guess at some point she realized it's kind of sick to talk about the son you kept with the son you left."

His voice doesn't betray any of the sadness that earlier left invisible stains in the collar of Minhyuk’s shirt. As if the smoke rising into the air and carrying away wisps of his mother’s words has also taken the hurt he was feeling.

Minhyuk isn’t sure it that pain truly has been washed away but, if it has, Hyungwon is a much stronger man than he can ever hope to be.

“There was a...problem,” Hyungwon says, still mumbling against his straw. “With me. And she was too weak to handle it.” He sniffs. “Still is, I guess.”

“What problem?”

Hyungwon shrugs. “I don’t know for certain but fear, probably.”

He turns his head to look at Minhyuk who instinctively draws back from the close proximity. The flare of the fire catches on his eyes too, turns them from an earthy green to a creamy latte brown. He leans his head against the tree and sets his drink by his legs.

Reaching over, he takes Minhyuk's long forgotten drink and sets it down as well. Then, he takes Minhyuk's left hand in his two own.

Gentle fingers graze over the back of Minhyuk hand and up to his wrist but goosebumps continue to rise up along his arm to his shoulder. Hyungwon brushes a thumb over one of the beads circling Minhyuk's wrist.

He wasn't before but, suddenly, Minhyuk is thirsty. And itchy.

"What are you doing?" His voice cracks halfway through and he clears his throat as embarrassment bleeds into his ears.

Hyungwon plays with his bracelet a little longer, chewing on his lip. After a moment, he shrugs. "I want to hear more about royal life."

"I thought you weren't interested in the House."

"I'm interested in you." Hyungwon peeks up at him through his hair.

He truly has beautiful eyes.

An uncomfortable laugh bubbles out of Minhyuk's throat. "Like I said, there isn't anything to say."

"There's nothing to say about the mysterious second prince, Minhyuk Son?" Raising an eyebrow, Hyungwon takes his hands back. He sucks his teeth. "I could think of a few things to say about Minhyuk Son."

"Like what?"

Hyungwon shrugs and picks up his drink.

"No, Hyungwon. Like what?"

Standing, Hyungwon brushes the dirt from his pants. "I'm hungry. We should go back."

Minhyuk watches with round eyes as Hyungwon goes to fetch the container of water he brought. "Wait! What would you say about me?" He scrambles up, almost knocking over his cup in his haste.

Hyungwon doesn't answer as he drenches the fire. He gathers his box and balances his smoothie inside it to carry.

Minhyuk finds the anklet in the grass and picks it up. "Are you leaving this?"

Glancing at the jewelry in Minhyuk's hand, Hyungwon frowns but he walks over to take it without a word of complaint or the slightest show of heartbreak. He tosses it into the box as if the expensive bracelet is nothing more than worthless junk, trash waiting to be removed forever, and raises tired eyes to Minhyuk’s face.

He smiles. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes but it’s full of promise that even if he’s not one hundred percent healed right now, he will be one day soon.

_“Minsoo, do you really need to get everything on video? We spend so much on tapes,” a woman sighs as she places the plastic bag she was filling with fun sized candy and small toys down. She eyes the tall man standing in the doorway, video camera glued to his face like it has been for the past three years._

_Where his eyes are blocked by the wretched thing she’s come close to smashing a number of times, his smile stretches wide like the sun coming up over the horizon beneath the camera._

_He chuckles with a voice that is cinnamon apple cider warm. “But look at him, Eunhee. He loves it!”_

_True to his word, the tiny boy sitting two cushions down the couch from her is flourishing under the attention. He’s been watching too many hero cartoons, throwing his pudgy little arms around in dynamic poses without a care to the candy flying out of the plastic bag he was filling._

_Shaking her head, she sighs again. Like the first time, the sound is fond and not as exasperated as her accompanying actions suggest. “Minhyuk.”_

_At the call of his name, the boy stops flexing and grins at the woman, all tiny baby teeth and pure joy._

_“Be careful, honey. You’re making a mess,” the woman says carefully while pointing out the scattered sweets, catching the disease of his bright smile and returning it with a soft stretch of strawberry painted lips._

_“Oh!” The boy glances around himself, looking at the small squares of chocolate and packages of sour hard candy littering the old couch and the woody brown carpet beneath their feet. Chuckling sheepishly, he begins to pick them up, almost banging his head on the glass coffee table when he crawls under it to reach one of the chocolates._

_“Are you excited, Hyuk?” the man asks, catching everything on camera._

_The boy does knock the back of his head on the underside of the coffee table when he tries to sit up to answer. His ignores the woman questioning if he’s okay and crawls back out. Sitting back on his heels, he rubs at the spot he hit, ruffling already disastrous light blond waves._

_“Yes!” he chimes, grinning so wide his eyes crinkle._

_“How old are you now?”_

_“Three!”_

_He holds up four fingers but neither adult correct him, both smiling adoringly at the boy._

_“What’s that?” The man points at the finished bags lined up neatly on the table, feigning ignorance._

_Climbing back onto the couch, the boy grabs the bag he was filling before. “Party bags!” He slips the candy he picked up back in one by one._

_“For your friends?”_

_Nodding enthusiastically, the boy grabs a plastic yo-yo and shoves it into the bag. Then, he takes a tie and wraps it around the top of the bag. “Finish.” He places the finished gift bag inside the wicker basket along with the rest of them. With a pointed finger, he counts the number under his breath and lights up when he reaches the last one he just added._

_Scooting down the couch, he presses himself against the woman. “Mama, last one. Finish, please!” he urges, picking up the gift bag she was working on and shoving it back into her hands._

_She laughs and reaches out to smooth down his hair. “Okay, okay. Sorry.”_

Minhyuk wakes up to the abrasive rays of the sun flooding through curtains he didn’t know were drawn and the vestiges of his dream lingering in his mind but quickly fading as he awakens. His image of the man slips first, stripped down to nothing more than a floating video camera. The woman takes a few minutes longer to leave, her waist length sandy blond hair and soft touch holding on until Minhyuk finally gives into the persistent sun and rolls onto his stomach to push himself up.

By the time he sits up and pushes his hair — finally rid of the dye and returned to its natural color — off his forehead, there’s nothing left but the well familiar image of his childhood self. Blinking his eyes open, he stares at his blankets pooled around him. His lips steadily pull down into a frown as a peculiar darkness blackens his heart and chills him to the bone.

He stares, confused.

Lifting a hand to his face again, Minhyuk pokes the fatty underside of his right eye. Wet.

He inhales, breath quivering, and it’s that brittle intake of air that splits the crack open. He begins to sob, fueled by a sadness that he can’t understand and something he feels like he should remember, but doesn’t.

  

“Going somewhere?”

Minhyuk loops the string of his mask around his ear as he continues down the hall, passing by Hyunwoo as he exits his own room. He answers the Crown Prince’s question with nothing more than a simple grunt of confirmation. It’s rude, perhaps, but if Hyunwoo is genuine about a desire to mend a relationship they haven’t had since they were kids, then he wants his brother to carry the brunt of that weight. After all, Hyunwoo was one of the many people who helped to shackle it to Minhyuk’s shoulders with his constant lectures of propriety and willful ignorance of Minhyuk’s mistreatment in the first place.

Minhyuk isn’t helping to fix a bond he didn’t break. He won’t hold himself responsible for that.

Hyunwoo trails after him toward the stairs, a thick, three-ring binder in his hands. “You go out pretty often lately,” he comments as they walk down the stairs. His voice holds no judgment, only curiosity that Minhyuk still doesn’t trust.

“There isn’t much for me to do here.” Minhyuk shrugs and slips his hands into the deep pockets of his joggers.

“I could ask if you can join in more council meetings.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. There’s no point in wasting my time where I’m not wanted.”

“Minhyuk, that’s not—”

Minhyuk holds up a hand to silence the Crown Prince. He sighs. “Lying to me is just as aggravating as if you were to suggest I’m not putting in enough effort to be introduced. We both know they’d rather I kept an arms length away from kingdom matters.”

Words escape Hyunwoo who walks alongside him without so much as a soft exhale passing through his downturned lips. Surely, he is humbled by the realization that they have nothing to discuss further, the result of years of treating one another as royalty with an unmistakable yet incomprehensible gap in status. Minhyuk hasn’t had a brother since puberty brought the grooming of Hyunwoo into a prince and the start of Minhyuk’s isolation from all things important to the House and the kingdom.

When they reach the first floor, a group of cleaning staff carrying tubs of finished and folded laundry greets them as they wait to ascend the stairs. Hyunwoo gestures for Minhyuk to stop for a moment around the entrance of the parlor.

The frown has yet to lift from his full lips. Although Minhyuk is minutely surprised at the sadness in his gaze, a part of him still sneers internally.

“I’m sorry,” Hyunwoo says, holding Minhyuk’s eyes and undeterred by their emptiness. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Minhyuk frowns as well then. “Rather than that, if you want to convince me, stop putting up a facade. Here, right now, we aren’t the two princes of Maua. We’re two men like any other so leave the formalities alone and talk to me like the brother you claim I am. Be honest with me for once.”

His words obviously strike deep within Hyunwoo whose eyes widen almost comically. Minhyuk wonders if this is the end, if he can continue his near daily escape of the House, but then Hyunwoo’s fingers clutch tight around the binder and he dips his head.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes again. “I let myself think it was for the best, especially knowing your...attitude.”

“You can say I have an anger problem. It’s not going to set me off,” Minhyuk says, somehow finding it in himself to laugh even if there isn’t much humor in it. He crosses his arms over his chest. “So what was the thing that opened your eyes? It surely wasn’t my tantrum a week ago.”

Hyunwoo runs his tongue over his lips. “No matter what happens to either of us, I would like to have a better relationship if you’d allow—“

“Answer the question, Your Highness. I have somewhere to be,” cuts in Minhyuk, tired of what seems to be a family trait of beating around the bush.

“They talk about how you’re unstable and it just occurred to me that all the words they say to you about being introduced if you fall in line are all empty promises.”

It’s nothing Minhyuk doesn’t already know, things he’s been saying to Hyunwoo for years, but while he’s annoyed Hyunwoo couldn’t understand before from his own words, he can’t deny that it is somewhat liberating to have someone who was against him realize their wrongs.

“You...” Hyunwoo glances up at him again. “I really thought about it after you said I lack empathy and it clicked. They’ve always pushed me towards the crown and I was so focused on making sure I deserved it that it warped my mind.”

Minhyuk opens his mouth to slow down Hyunwoo’s regret train before it runs off the rails, already feeling like the older man is repeating himself in different ways, when it strikes him.

Hyunwoo _knows_.

He knows he’s not the heir to the throne. He knows he isn’t the one nature intended to rule of the kingdom after their mother steps down. He knows he doesn’t ‘deserve’ it.

But that begs the question of when did he realize? How long has he been trying to convince himself that he’s someone who he isn’t? Just like Minhyuk.

How funny. They’re more alike than Minhyuk ever thought they were, both victim to whatever game the advisors and the king are playing.

“Minhyuk, I’m—“

“I forgive you.”

Hyunwoo’s next apology dies on his tongue. He stares at Minhyuk with wide eyes and the blond boy finally picks up on the very real remorse within them. Hyunwoo isn’t good enough of an actor for all of this to be a ruse.

“What?”

“I forgive you,” Minhyuk repeats himself. “Not for everything, but I do. Right now...I can’t consider myself a part of this family, but I think we can work on our relationship.”

Hyunwoo’s soft, hopeful grin takes him by surprise. Minhyuk didn’t realize how long it’s been since he’s seen it directed at him, or even seen it at all.

“Thank you, Minhyuk.”

Waving his hand casually, Minhyuk returns the grin with one much smaller but still containing friendliness he hasn’t feel in years. “Yeah, yeah.”

 

There’s something very wrong with Minhyuk — wrong with his heart that has become more prone to sudden, intense, palpitations and wrong with his stomach that these days feels light and airy and sick. He has been feeling this way for a while, at least the last month as far as he can remember, but it always felt so unimportant compared to the typhoon of stress that stormed in. Even as he’s struck with discomfort, stomach filling with bubbles, he pushes it down in order to return Hyungwon’s wide grin as the boy walks up to where he’s been lingering outside the entrance of Central Park.

Rather than Minhyuk venturing down to the south or to the Forest of Lights, Hyungwon asked if Minhyuk would join him in the northern part of the kingdom for the afternoon. It’s weird to see him amongst the bustle. Minhyuk thought he wouldn’t fit, too beautiful of a flower to thrive amongst the dead chill of the city, but he blends in well dressed in a powder blue shirt, slim grey jeans, and crisp, white sneakers, his sand colored bracelet hanging around his wrist instead of his ankle. On his arms hang three large, pink paper bags, all overflowing with an assortment of flowers.

Hyungwon’s rosy lips bloom into a pretty smile as he stops in front of him with a laugh. “Sorry. I accidentally got on the wrong bus.”

Shaking his head, Minhyuk waves off his apology. He didn’t arrive when he planned either due to Hyunwoo pulling him aside for his apology. “What’s all of this?” He motions toward the bags in the younger boy’s arms.

Glancing down, Hyungwon looks at his luggage. “I thought we could make flower crowns.” He blinks at Minhyuk, pouting a bit, when he chuckles. “What?”

Warmth spreads up through Minhyuk’s neck but he ignores it in favor of laughing more earnestly at the cute expression. “It’s very like you to want to make flower crowns is all,” he says.

Hyungwon hums a light sound, lifting the bag on his left full of fresh flowers of amazing color. “I thought it’d be fun. I haven’t made one in a while. My mood swings were too strong but now I feel good.”

“I don’t think I’ve made once since I was a kid,” Minhyuk muses to himself.

“Then, we can play like kids today,” Hyungwon says with a grin, motioning for them to move.

Central Park, despite being in the middle of the city, isn’t thriving with visitors hoping to spend a nice day out amongst the tranquility of tall, full-bodied trees and delicately flowering summer bushes. Compared to the park he usually visits in the south, this one feels upsettingly empty - a reminder of how city folk are drifting away from the values of their heritage as the years pass. It’s a shame. The park is beautiful, a grand expanse of green with wide concrete walkways lined with benches made of light tan wood and looping white metal frames. Minhyuk, admittedly, doesn’t visit often either, but he quite likes this park.

He suggests a spot under a pair of trees, close to where a father is playing a game of catch with twin sons and across the walkway from a cute duo of two girls cuddled into each other as they study. It’s not particularly hot out, not as much as it could be in the middle of summer, but the shade shielding them from the sun is cooling.

Hyungwon sits at the base of the smaller of the two trees. From each bag, he carefully takes out small wrapped bouquets of various flowers and lays them out in neat rows by his side. They’re all beautiful in a way that seems almost unreal, touched by magic. He has also prepared an entire spool of wire, shears, and tape. Minhyuk stands under the other tree, watching him as he prepares his workspace and surprised at just how much the younger boy has brought with him. He doesn’t know how many flowers Hyungwon plans to add to his crown, but he brought enough for what looks to be at least a dozen crowns.

Hyungwon blinks up at him when he’s finished and curls his hand. When Minhyuk starts to sit down across from him, he shakes his head and waves his hand harder. “Come here first.” He pats the empty space by his side.

Brows furrowing in confusion because he wouldn’t be able to reach anything from there, Minhyuk purses his lips. “What?” he asks, even as he obeys and falls into the spot as instructed.

With a lazy shrug, Hyungwon reaches for his face, slips his fingers under the ear strap of his mask, and pulls it off. He drops it into Minhyuk’s lap. “Okay.” Then he turns over his shoulder and reaches for the loop of wire. “You can sit wherever makes you comfortable. That’s all I wanted.”

Pushing away the explanation that he’s not supposed to take it off aside, Minhyuk nods and crawls over to a better place. One not so close to Hyungwon who looks at him with eyes that make the odd feeling in his stomach intensify. “You could have said something instead,” he mumbles.

Hyungwon rolls out a length of wire and pinches his fingers around where he wants to cut it. He shoots a quick glance and the usual, mysterious smile at Minhyuk. "I could have," he agrees, picking up the shears and aligning them a few notches away from where his fingers rest on the wire. "But I didn't." The cut strand of wire falls into his lap. "Is that a problem?"

 _Yes, it is_ , Minhyuk wants to say, but he has no explanation for why that is so. All he has is the dampness making his palms itch and the ache in his chest. Perhaps he could say that it just made more sense for Hyungwon to voice his disagreement with Minhyuk's use of the mask before his discontent with it built up enough for him to do something about it himself. Minhyuk would have taken it off if he had asked without question. He didn't like it either; he had simply gotten used to wearing it again after the tabloid fiasco.

When he doesn't answer, Hyungwon leaves the taunt behind, placing the wire and the scissors down in the grass between them. Picking up the tape, he rips off a short length of it and leaves it stuck to his finger as he manipulates the wire into a neat circle.

"Shouldn't you measure to make sure it'll fit you?" Minhyuk asks as Hyungwon wraps the tape around the two ends of the wire, sealing them together.

With a small smile, Hyungwon shakes his head. "I've made so many of these that I can estimate it well enough. See?" He lifts the circle of wire to his head, resting it atop his, for once, neatly arranged hair. And it is a good fit, loose enough that he can work flowers around it without the crown becoming too crowded and snug but small enough that it won't fall enough under a small breeze or sharp turn of the head.

Minhyuk takes the spool of wire in hand and begins to unwind it. "It's been so long. I don't even know if I remember how to make one of these. Or if I even used to do it like this in the first place." Once he's unraveled enough of the wire, he raises it to his hairline and wraps it around his temple. He lets the wire overlap a bit, giving himself a bit of leeway, and then lowers it to grab the shears and follow as Hyungwon is doing. "Can you pass me the tape?"

"I can't believe you haven't made one since you were young." Hyungwon tosses him the gardening tape, sounding mildly scandalized. He turns his attention to the flowers he's brought, nibbling on his bottom lip as he contemplates an arrangement.

Minhyuk snorts as he cuts off a short strip of tape. "I'm sorry not everyone is as obsessed with nature as you."

Picking up a grand yellow sunflower, Hyungwon sniffs. "You should be. Sometimes it's nice to just...relax and connect with the simple world around you." He tilts his head to the side as he fingers the vibrant petals of the flower in his hand. "And crowns are cute."

"You're cute," Minhyuk says with a laugh that immediately goes hoarse as soon as he realizes his tongue had gotten ahead of his mind.

Where had that come from? He hadn't been thinking anything of the sort. Sure, he acknowledges that Hyungwon is a beauty, he's known that since the very first time he came across the boy in his garden, but it's never been so at the forefront of his mind for him to carelessly compliment the other boy in such a manner.

Hyungwon cuts the long stem of the sunflower to a more manageable length and begins to twine it around the wire. "Thanks," he says, as if Minhyuk hadn't said anything out of place.

Blinking once, twice, three times, Minhyuk tries to reconcile his embarrassing exclamation with Hyungwon's casual response. Perhaps he's overreacting. Although unquestionably out of place, maybe the compliment wasn't so strange.

With fever still creeping into his cheeks, Minhyuk clears his throat and busies himself with picking out a number of flowers to add to his crown. Across from him, Hyungwon begins to hum as he pinches a sprig of tiny, green filler leaves against the sunflower and begins to secure them to the wire base.

Empty words sit heavy on Minhyuk's tongue and suck all of the moisture out until his mouth feels like the deserts of Nadir but he so terribly wants to say something, anything at all, to prevent them from lapsing into silence and leaving his mind to conjure up questions he doesn't want to find answers to right in that moment. Hyungwon, nonplussed as always, seems more than content to sing a song unfamiliar to Minhyuk under his breath as he works. His voice is hushed yet pleasant to listen to and steadily eases Minhyuk whose heart still thunders with lingering embarrassment as he cuts and curls the stems of a white hibiscus paired with delphinium.

His hands are clumsy, long unfamiliar with how to craft, and halfway through an alternating pattern of his chosen flower and filler, he lifts the work in progress to his head. Hyungwon glances up at the same time, nearly finished with his first crown, and giggles, hiding his smile behind his hand still holding a stem of honey bracelet pinched between his fingers.

Minhyuk frowns lightly. "Is it bad?" He glances up as if he can see the crown through his hair.

Putting down the foliage and his own crown, Hyungwon shakes his head. "No, it's..." With another chuckle, he moves the flowers between them aside and crawls into the space in front of Minhyuk who leans back as he leans forward. He clamps a hand down on Minhyuk's shoulder, preventing him from moving too far.

"It's already falling apart," he explains, picking at the crown.

Minhyuk wants to tell him to take it off his head if he's going to fix it, but his lips stay firmly pressed together as Hyungwon's light exhales graze over them. Hyungwon mumbles tips on how to have a stronger construction but his words fall on ears that hear nothing but crinkling static. Nevertheless, Minhyuk is able to grasp a few things after his eyes drift down to watch the way those full, rose petal-pink lips form syllables and sentences.

_Don't be afraid to use more tape._

_Make the stem a little longer if you have to._

_What? How did you even put this together, Minhyuk?_

_Minhyuk? Are you listening?_

_Minhyuk?_

"...Minhyuk?"

Flinching, Minhyuk flicks his eyes up to meet Hyungwon's as the younger boy regards him with confusion. "Sorry, I...got distracted." He bows his head in apology.

Hyungwon's tongue peeks between the seam of his lips. "It's okay." He shifts back some and picks up his own crown. "You're doing well. Just...fortify it some more."

He has the sun in his cheeks and Minhyuk's own warm up again at the precious sight of his blush. Taking his crown off his head, Minhyuk attempts to quell the storm of butterflies in his stomach and follow the instructions he wasn't listening to.

Hyungwon finishes his first crown with quick fingers as if he makes them professionally on a factory line and quickly winds wire into a circle for a second. "If you want to watch, you can," he offers as he reaches for one of the bags he brought and from it reveals a small bouquet of pink.

Minhyuk's eyebrows raise at the delicate color choice that expresses so much sweet affection. "Are you only using pink buds?"

A shy smile crosses Hyungwon's face as his blush deepens from a sunrise to a sunset. He unravels the bouquet and extracts his first stem of pale pink forget me nots. Eyes focused on his hands, he hums.

Minhyuk doesn't want to know. "Is it for someone?" But he needs to know.

Hyungwon lifts his gaze and presses the flowers to his lips, whispering against their fragile petals.

They sway against a wind Minhyuk doesn't feel and his heart seizes.


	11. i.xi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i thought chapter five was the worst chapter but i lied it’s this one. let's go out in style with 7400 words of mediocrity, shall we u3u

In the early afternoon, a strong breeze dancing with the curtains of his bedroom window, Minhyuk sits cross-legged on his bed. Wet blond strands drip fat droplets of water onto the bridge of his nose that curve off his cheek and slide down his jaw. The towel slung over his shoulder mostly catches them from there but a few wild drops catch on his collarbones.

He blinks, long and slow, as he stares out to the other side of the room. It's spacious and yet its expanse blurs into nothing with the intensity of his focus; suddenly everything is so narrow. When he breathes in deeply, smelling the wood scented oil sitting in a small glass vase on his short wardrobe, his heart thumps twice where it should only beat once. It's thick, his heartbeat. So strong that when he glances down at his left breast, he can almost see his chest lift with its force. He watches the faint evidence of his heart pumping hard at work, scraping his teeth over his bottom lip when it skips and beats double, triple, quadruple-time before settling into pace again.

Inhaling deep again, Minhyuk lifts his chin and settles his gaze on the healthy circle of pink hanging from the bent sliding door of his closet.

The flower crown.

Hyungwon had never said it was for him, not in words, but he offered it to Minhyuk with a joke —  _so you have one that doesn't look like the start of a bird's nest_ , he said with a titter — and a pretty smile.

It's hard to look at when he thinks of everything it could mean. Things he's not sure if he's reading too much into and things he's not sure he'll be able to live up to. Pink speaks so many words, carries the weight of so many emotions in their earliest, most pure stages. But it's very possible that Hyungwon didn't mean anything by giving him the all pink crown, a beautiful bouquet of forget me nots and carnations and peonies and baby's breath.  There's no reason to think Hyungwon—

No, there's no reason to think those things at all.

Heart beating like a hummingbird's wings, Minhyuk wipes at the moisture on his face and slips off his bed. He walks to his closet and stops before the crown, taking it in his hands with a smile he doesn't notice he's making.

The flowers are still a healthy pastel. He wonders about the crowns they left scattered around the park. Are they just as beautiful as the one in his hands a day later? Has someone picked one up to wear, to take home with them? Hyungwon had said it was hard to make a flower last after it’s been cut from its roots but that he hoped their gift lasted long enough to soothe at least a few hearts.

Minhyuk doesn’t have faith in city folk to appreciate them properly. Not even in himself.

Carefully, he replaces the flower crown atop the bend of the sliding door and finally turns his attention to his clothes.

With no special plans for the day, he picks out one of his many pairs of joggers and slips them on. Perhaps he’ll visit the gym for a little bit. He’s not on edge — in fact, he feels more settled than ever since noticing he was starting to go through something of a relapse — but there’s little else to do.

He’s content to let Hyungwon have a day without him even though he wouldn’t be opposed to seeing him again so soon. Time slows when he’s not around, leaving Minhyuk more restless than he already is cooped up in the unwelcoming petal palace. He craves the way time slows when he  _is_  around. When it doesn’t feel like he’s chasing the end of a rainbow and more like he has starlight in every color at his fingertips, just close enough to feel its warmth if he reaches out for it.

But he wants to give Hyungwon the time to properly heal and spend time with people who will help him do that on his own terms. He doesn’t even know if the younger boy returns to his tiny cabin in the woods now. As much as he adores the cabin, he remembers that Hyungwon felt tied down to it—presumably a gift from his mother—and he doesn’t want to keep Hyungwon there only because it acts as a safe haven for him.

From his wardrobe he pulls out a plain, white shirt and a similarly pristine pair of socks. After dressing, he roughly drags his towel over his hair again until it’s manageably damp and then lets it hang over his shoulders again. He doesn’t plan on working up too much of a sweat so he doesn’t bother with finding one of his actual sweat towels.

Maybe when he finishes, he’ll call. Just to see how Hyungwon is doing and ask about his day. Just to hear that drowsy, molasses voice for a second.

 

“What’s up with you these days? You don’t even call anymore.”

Hoseok is lying on his bed like he lives there when Minhyuk returns to his room nearly an hour later, pleasantly refreshed after his workout. Minhyuk doesn't remember him saying anything about a visit, but he's also not surprised in the slightest. It’s just like Hoseok to sneak his way in unannounced.

Dragging his towel from around his shoulders, Minhyuk lets it fall to the floor. "That's sad, huh," he says and sidesteps into his bathroom.

He turns on the tap and, as he waits for the water to warm, Hoseok drifts into the doorway with an exaggerated pout.

“I express my hurt that you haven’t been in touch and  _that’s_  what you respond with?”

“My received call log is pretty empty so it’s not like you’ve been dying to hear from me,” Minhyuk returns.

Hoseok clicks his tongue, annoyed.

Minhyuk shoots him a smirk before swiping his fingers under the running tap. The water is warm and he dips his head down to quickly wash his face of the little perspiration he built. Hoseok slides behind him to snatch his face towel off the rack and hold it out for him.

Taking it with mumbled thanks, Minhyuk dries his face. “So what do I owe for this wonderful surprise?” he asks once he finishes. Folding the towel, he leaves it on the corner of the sink.

He shoos Hoseok out of the way and they step back into his room.

“Mom is here to talk with Ahn about some new budget they’re trying to get finalized. And I, the greatest friend you’ve ever had even if you’re too prideful to admit it, thought I’d come.” Hoseok flops onto the bed, once again making to lie down. “I haven’t been here in forever.”

Minhyuk shakes his head, holding back a fond smile. "Because I don’t like you enough to invite you."

"Hey!" Hoseok grabs a pillow and pelts it at him, its marshmallow plush hitting Minhyuk in his knees.

He laughs as he jerks to catch it before it falls to the floor. He tosses it back and it soars over Hoseok to land behind his outstretched form. Joining Hoseok on the bed, he sits down at the edge and brings his legs in, twisting them in front of his body.

"But, really, what's up?" Hoseok asks, rolling onto his back so they can face each other.

Minhyuk shrugs before leaning back on his palms. "Nothing much. Everything is the same," he says. "I think I'm gonna move out."

Hoseok blinks blankly before his entire face turns to stone. "Are they trying to get rid of you? Isn't your mom--"

"No," Minhyuk holds up a hand, "this is my decision."

And it's one he's thought over although, admittedly, not very hard. Even though the idea had crossed his mind before, he didn't think he would want to act on it so soon; but watching Hyungwon try to free himself of the cage of his past and better himself, seeing him smile so openly the day before...Minhyuk wants that, wants to take his life into his own hands, and that's not something he can do so long as he wakes up the neglected second prince day after day.

"I just..." He shrugs again, dragging his teeth over his lip. "I don't know what the point in staying is anymore. It's been a while since I genuinely believed they would acknowledge me. So..."

The King would throw him out with nothing, wouldn't even breathe in the direction of Minhyuk's back as he walked out of the grand entrance doors of the House of Petals, but he's sure his mother would help him out until he got on his feet. He doesn't have need for much. It wouldn't be that hard to find a job in the city and his university studies are paid for by his own merit and not the House.

Hoseok nods, taking his words in. He doesn't protest as Minhyuk expects him to, just nods and swings a foot over to pat Minhyuk on the knee in understanding. His eyes travel around the room as he obviously looks for something else to latch on to for a change in conversation.

Minhyuk appreciates him. He isn’t sensitive about this and has no problem talking about wanting to leave, but it warms him to see the older man being careful of his feelings nonetheless.

Eventually, after a long breath of silence, Hoseok focuses on something just over Minhyuk’s shoulder. “Nice flower crown.”

Minhyuk’s mouth pops open with a soft noise and he glances over at it, a blush coloring his cheeks as his stomach swoops as it seems to do lately. “Thanks.”

He doesn’t notice the short span of minutes he spends remembering the quaint outing the day before until Hoseok clears his throat. Snapping out of his reverie to face his friend, Minhyuk flinches at the interrogative look that sharpens Hoseok’s gaze.

“It’s a pretty arrangement but I didn’t think it was special enough for you to make heart eyes at it.”

“I didn’t make ‘heart eyes’ at it,” Minhyuk protests only for his friend to sit up with a scoff.

Hoseok’s mouth spreads into a light smile and his entire countenance softens, all the hard lines melting like ice does when spring breaks. It’s the look he wears when he talks about Jihyun. The look where he doesn’t have stars in his eyes but the entire galaxy twinkling in them. Then, it vanishes and Hoseok is leveling him with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smirk. “That was exactly what you looked like.”

Minhyuk’s lips drop into a frown as his heart throbs. “It was not.”

“It was too.”

“You’re exaggerating.” Minhyuk rolls his eyes and looks away from his friend, making a point to not let the crown drift into his vision.

Hoseok doesn’t catch the hint to move on and continues to push. “Who made it?”

Minhyuk presses his lips together, rolls them against each other as he stares at a necklace that must have fallen from his dresser. Some part of him wants to tell Hoseok about the barefoot boy who always has flowers in his hair and who has a smile like springtime, but another part wants to keep Hyungwon to himself — is fraught with discomfort thinking of what may happen once the boy stops being his secret.

He opens his mouth to claim he made it but Hoseok is quicker.

“Did you get a girl?”

Tossing his head back, Minhyuk groans exasperatedly. “ _No_ , I didn't."

Disregarding the gender, he and Hyungwon are  _friends_. Good friends — Minhyuk would even consider them close — but nothing else. He doesn’t have the time or the luxury for a relationship. Not as long as he feels at the hands and feeble whims of the House.

And it’s not as though he wants that sort of thing with Hyungwon. He can’t imagine holding his weeping willow hands or going on dates or kissing his plush lips that look like clouds and are probably as soft.

"Goodness, Minhyuk, if you could see the look on your face."

Hoseok’s mouth drops open in a gape that would be funny if Minhyuk wasn’t thoroughly mortified with the direction this conversation has taken and the sixtieth story drop of his stomach as images of being intimate with  _a friend_  print in his mind.

"I can't believe you started dating and didn't say anything."

Hoseok couldn’t be more wrong yet Minhyuk feels hot like a furnace.

“Because I'm  _not dating_."

“Minhyuk, come on,” Hoseok drawls, any offense at being left out covered by an annoying glint of amusement. “You can tell me. I’m not going to announce it to the whole kingdom. I won't even tell Changkyun.”

Minhyuk tosses his legs over the side of his bed to stand, Hoseok’s insistence making him jittery. His annoyance is quickly developing into frustration and the last thing he wants is to get mad at Hoseok over this. It's all simple jest, he knows, but that doesn't ease the tension in his jaw or stop the twitch of his fingers.

“What’s her name?” Hoseok's inquires further.

How ironic that he was so cautious of Minhyuk's mood only to push him into one.

“Stop." Minhyuk sighs, an acknowledgment of how stupid to would be lose his temper the only thing keeping him calm.

“Where’d you meet?”

Barely.

“I mean it," the blond man grinds out between gritted teeth.

“What’s she look—”

“Hoseok, I don’t like women so fuck off!”

Hoseok doesn't recoil at his outburst but he does stare at Minhyuk with round, wide eyes. Minhyuk knows he looks just the same, perhaps even more shocked at his own words. They aren't wrong — while he can appreciate their beauty and charms, he's never felt a pull towards the few girls he interacted with — but where they came from, he doesn't know. He never thought much of his preferences, never thought it mattered. He's always assumed he would end up with a woman through the royal's hand in matchmaking or alone.

Romance has never been on mind until now. Until Hoseok's stupid questions, that is.

“…Oh.” Hoseok mumbles, blinking.

Annoyance thoroughly washed away, Minhyuk wets dried out lips and swallows. "Yeah."

“So..." Hoseok taps out a rhythm on the bed. A beat passes, and another, and then he stops, scooting to the edge of the bed and staring at Minhyuk with eyes full of their earlier curiosity. "Who’s the lucky guy? Where'd you meet him? How old is he?"

Groaning, Minhyuk clamps a hand down like a vice around Hoseok's arm and yanks him off the bed. He ignores his friend's complaints of pain and mistreatment, dragging Hoseok toward the door. Swinging the door open, he shoves Hoseok out into the hallway and is quick to shut and lock it.

Hoseok bangs on the door in threes. "Minhyuk, this only makes you look guiltier!"

"Think what you want!" Minhyuk screams back.

Traveling to his bed, he falls into it face first. He hears Hoseok say something about royals and poor hospitality before declaring that he's leaving and Minhyuk sighs in relief. He's so tired after only fifteen minutes.

Pressing his cheek into the mattress, Minhyuk peers up at the crown and sucks his teeth even as his stomach flutters.

It's just admiration.

Hoseok doesn't know what he's talking about.

 

 ♣

 _House of Petals reveals plans to build up industry in southern neighborhoods_.

 

Minhyuk wipes at the sweat beading at his hairline, the knit hat hiding his hair from view all but setting him ablaze. It’s yet another reason to leave the house — the possibility of falling ill with heatstroke due to hiding identity like this in the summer heat. He doesn’t know why he still bothers, why he doesn’t run to the first news agency he can find and tell them the truth. The House would deserve it. Maybe it would tarnish the reputation of his mother and Hyunwoo and maybe the feeling vindication wouldn’t last very long, but as long as he plans on leaving, it would be a fitting end.

Looking up from his phone, he glances out of the window of the car and sees a familiar, quaint suburban neighborhood.

“Ah,” he sticks a hand between the front seats, flagging the attention of the taxi driver, “actually, you can drop me off at the end of this road,” he says.

He picks up his satchel from where it fell to the floor of the car at some point.

“Are you sure?” The driver, an older gentleman who looks as though he’s lost the ability to smile years ago despite the courteousness in his voice, quickly takes his eyes off the road to glance at him. “We’d be driving past your house.”

Minhyuk doesn’t usually take taxis to return to the House, but when he does he has picked up the habit of giving the driver the address to one of the houses in this neighborhood. It has caused a few awkward conversations with the people who live there but it’s better than asking to be dropped off at the front gates of the royal property when he’s pretending not to be one of them. But that day he’s inexplicably tense and he wants to shorten the walk and bypass uncomfortable hellos with the people in this neighborhood as much as possible.

He musters up a smile as he digs through his satchel for his wallet. “Yeah, don’t worry about it.” He pins a laugh at the end of his words, hoping this man without expression in his face isn’t the type for unsolicited questions.

Thankfully, he’s not. With a short grunt, he shrugs and passes by the neighborhood of single family homes and gratuitous yard space.

Eying the meter, Minhyuk plucks out the cost of the ride. He drops the exact amount of silver into the driver’s palm after he pulls over at the side of the road. Shoving his wallet and phone back into his bag, Minhyuk grabs the plastic bag holding his day’s purchases on the other end of the backseat. He pushes the door open, and with a farewell greeting to the driver, steps out onto the sidewalk.

As soon as the taxi drives away with a u-turn to head back into the city, Minhyuk rips the hat from his head. He shakes his hair out, the sandy strands falling haphazardly into his eyes. It’s risky — news and tabloid outlets can be lurking around — but the heat is only making his mood worse.

Shoving the hat into the plastic bag along with the garden supplies he picked up, he begins the nearly half an hour walk back to the House.

The fresh air does him some good, calming some of the tension stiffening his shoulders and making his fingers pinch tight around the handle of his shopping bag.

As he walks, he wonders of the recent news regarding the sudden commercial expanse in the south. Normally he wouldn’t question the decisions made by the council — there’s no point when he’s not consulted about them — but it’s so out of character. They and the King have never cared enough about the people there to do something for their benefit if it doesn’t also come as a profit to them. They can’t; otherwise infrastructure wouldn’t be practically nonexistent while the rest of the Kingdom, even the area leading up to the Forest of Lights, flourishes.

Not to mention, the King has been awfully preoccupied with the south lately — not the south of Maua but their southern neighbor. Minhyuk won’t be surprised in the slightest if this has anything to do with his strange obsession with Nadir. The Queen is still out of the kingdom as well, due back to return that day and surely briefed little on this southern endeavor, if talked to about it all. Under the contract of marriage and his mother’s verbal will early in their shared rule, the King is allowed to make decisions on his own as he sees fit and Minhyuk has no doubt that this is the reason for the recent announcement.

There have been little details concerning the kind of industry the government is looking to fortify, only warnings of inevitable relocation. Minhyuk worries greatly for the people of the southern neighborhoods who will be disrupted by this. He’s always treasured the south and how much they still celebrate their heritage; and now he has a great friend who lives there, whose family lives there, and he would hate to see them hurt in any way.

Minhyuk raises an eyebrow at the hunk of metal in the shape of a large van sitting parked along the side of the road towards the end of his walk, a stark contrast against the open grass and the grand beauty of the House of Petals.

It’s not a media truck; they like to broadcast that they’re from the news. It’s something he expects to find in the south, not en route to the House of Petals on the edge of the city. Unless reporters have taken to undercover work — although Minhyuk doesn’t consider this vehicle with scratched paint and a few dents lining the right side sliding door to be very discreet — this has to be a civilian car.

There’s no one in the van, he notices as he walks past it and chances a curious peek. It could be broken down and abandoned, but that thought is quickly challenged by the buzz of noise that grows as he ascends the hill leading up to the small cliff where the House sits. He climbs over the crest, the buzz sharpening into a distinct chanting, and there in front of the tall gates, he sees them.

Never before has he witnessed a protest. He’s seen plenty on the news of angered citizens in other kingdoms and of university students rallying against abusive professors, but this is the first time to see one in person. There have been demonstrations against the House before, of course, but the council tries to keep evidence of them out of the state media. Even now, Minhyuk doesn’t see a single reporter or a video camera that isn’t in the hands of a protester.

Some people carry megaphones while others hold signs of painted, clever words and crude drawings of the monarchs and council but they all hold expressions of desperate anger. There must be close to fifty people, a rather small number, but Minhyuk hopes their fifty voices, fifty pleas for the council to have more sympathy for those who will lose homes and business, are heard. No one deserves to have their life uprooted so suddenly for something they didn’t ask for.

Minhyuk walks up to the demonstration, his impatient, quick-paced gait slowing to a shuffle as he takes in the mass of people. A grimace crosses his face as he notices the guards amongst them urging the protesters to leave with harsh gestures.

“We’re not leaving until someone comes out here to talk with us!” A woman with a piercing gaze not unlike that of a snake and a voice like glass steps forward.

Donglim, a senior guard who plays bad cop more than he does good, steps up to her with his mouth twisted in a condescending smirk. “I’m talking to you now and asking you to leave the premises.”

A young man, around Minhyuk’s age, steps up behind the woman and places a hand on her shoulder in solidarity. “You heard her. We’re not leaving,” he says to incensed cheering from the people around them.

“Yeah!”

“We want to talk to the head advisor!”

“We’re not going!”

Passionate and unwilling to back down, the crowd shuffles closer toward the gates and the line of guards who yell back their demands for them to leave the premises.

A million thoughts run through Minhyuk’s mind as he considers the scene and what he can do. He can’t simply bypass all of this and enter the gates. Even if he could, it wouldn’t feel appropriate for him to. As the protestors grow more determined to be heard, the posture of the guards grows more rigid. He may not be known to them by title but these are his people. He’s responsible for these people. But, in this position, he can’t do anything. He can’t assure them that he’ll make sure the council reconsiders; he doesn’t have that kind of power.

Everything happens so quickly. The fat rock of helplessness that flirts with Minhyuk’s inability to process negative emotions without skyrocketing off the deep end makes his jaw clench and temper flare. The crowd, growing angrier still, raises their voices in their chanting. There is pushing on all sides — guards pushing protesters back, protesters pushing protesters forward.

The woman Donglim confronted, at the front of the mass, goes forward. Her hands clamp down on Donglim’s shoulders and he goes down as she follows. To Minhyuk, it looks as though she fell but that doesn’t matter. In seconds, another guard descends on her, ripping her up from her crumpled sprawl on the group with a grip that makes her exclaim in pain.

It’s much too loud to be possible, but Minhyuk swears he can hear the clink of the handcuffs as they close around her wrists.

“Stop!”

It's exactly what Minhyuk’s heart does when he hears the voice of a boy he can just barely see fighting his way through the crowd to get to the front where other guards are starting to apprehend protesters. Hyungwon, with his usual unruly hair and a breast pocket full of delphinium, breaks through and runs up to Donglim.

“Uncuff her. You know that was an accident. You can’t allow for the arrest of innocent citizens.”

“What is he doing here?” Minhyuk mutters to himself.

His heartbeat begins to accelerate as Donglim steps into Hyungwon’s space, no taller than the boy but still casting an air of authority over him. This ride has reached its highest point and is now on its way down a steep drop, picking up speed for a crash that seems to be inevitable.

“I know that you all have ignored polite requests to end this unsanctioned revolt and have met our graciousness with aggression. The House of Son does not tolerate sedition,” Donglim says, bearing down into Hyungwon who fearlessly returns the glare with one of his own. The guard doesn’t take to the attitude kindly, pressing in closer until they’re toe to toe. “Retreat.”

There’s threat in his voice and it carries over to Minhyuk whose hands ball in tight fists as a fierce wave of protectiveness takes hold. He might not be able to do anything for these people or the expansion decision, but there is no telling what he will do if Donglim so much as breathes on Hyungwon too hard.

Minhyuk has never felt so beside himself for another person — not Hoseok back in his crybaby days, not Changkyun who used to get bullied in school, not even his mother. The fire only sparks for him, for things that hurt him, and yet there’s red on the fringe of his vision as he watches Hyungwon hold his ground and refuse until those who are restrained are freed.

He unclenches his fists when they become so tight his nails, as short as they are, begin to cut into his skin. He doesn’t realize his legs moving, taking one step and then another, closer toward where the confrontation is happening.

“Where is he going?”

“Wait. It’s the blond kid.”

“The one everyone thinks is the prince?”

Minhyuk hears all of the whispers as he shoulders through the crowd but they flit in one ear and straight out of the other. His attention funnels down to two people and two people only.

Donglim folds a hand around Hyungwon’s upper arm and Minhyuk drops the bag in his to the ground.

“Hey,” Minhyuk calls out as he steps out into view. The number of guards in his line of sight react varyingly to his appearance — some blink in shock or jolt or gasp out short halves of his name until they remember or have no reaction at all.

Donglim is one of the latter and Minhyuk regards him with bored eyes.

He nods his head towards Hyungwon who opens his mouth only to close it again and frown.

“Hands off the kid, yeah?”

“And who are  _you_  to demand that from me?” Donglim sneers.

Minhyuk can’t fight his scowl. Those words are so similar to the King’s and they are more than aggravating to hear from some guard who thinks he’s tough. He knows the staff isn’t supposed to acknowledge him for who he really is around the watching eyes of the public but this is something different — it’s deliberate and malicious, like poking a hornet’s nest or a sleeping bear. There’s true disdain hovering in the air between them.

“Minhyuk, relax. It’s okay. I’m okay,” Hyungwon tries to reassure him in a soft call that only breaks through the buzz in his ears because it’s him — his friend. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

But what he doesn’t know — or maybe he does and that’s why he said it — is that Minhyuk is a child of regrets; he has so many of them, he has trouble thinking of a time where he’s been truly happy with himself. He’ll go through the usual crash, that’s for sure, but he doesn’t think he’d regret sending his fist straight into Donglim’s nose. He still wishes he punched Ahn those weeks ago.

“Oh!” Donglim lights up with curious amusement, the smug smirk never leaving his face. “Is this a friend of yours? That’s cute. You want to protect him.” He further proves he doesn't respect Minhyuk’s flimsy authority by whirling Hyungwon around and holding his arms behind his back.

Hyungwon gasps as he’s restrained, instinctively tugging against the hold.

“You would care for such trash.”

An uproar bellows from the protesters at the insult. It’s all of the noise that keeps Minhyuk from blacking out, the auditory overload just enough to keep him on the cusp of consciousness.

The other guards stood back so far, watching the progression of a situation none of them were prepared to handle, but then another senior guard steps up, seeing that this wild ride will take a turn into catastrophe if it continues on.

“Stop antagonizing him,” Hyunbin says, heaving a disappointed sigh. “Let the kid go. His Majesty isn’t going to promote you to military just because you’re being an ass.” He breaks the clutch Donglim has on Hyungwon’s arms himself, guiding the boy toward Minhyuk.

The blond doesn’t spare a look toward his friend, his glare still fixed on Donglim who returns it well even as Hyunbin orders the guards to take in the few they’ve apprehended for questioning and make the others leave.

“Hey. Don’t look at him.”

Slightly trembling hands cup Minhyuk’s cheeks and turn his head. A knit creases the space between Hyungwon’s thick brows and it tightens the longer his eyes rove over Minhyuk’s face.

Discomfort settles in Minhyuk’s chest. The buzz begins to fade, the red filter covering his vision receding to the very corners— until a cackle brings it all flooding back in. Glaring once again, he finds Donglim amongst the other guards and just barely catches the way he sucks his teeth and turns his nose up before the older man is turning his back to him.

He blinks when Hyungwon slaps his cheeks, light but nonetheless surprising.

“Don’t.”

Feeling scolded, Minhyuk averts his attention from Hyungwon’s frown. His eyes drop to the younger boy’s arms and he immediately checks for even the lightest bruise, thinking back to the position Hyungwon was just in. It’s still not too late to remind Donglim of just how reckless his temper makes him. He won’t do it now, not when Hyungwon is around, already looking so distraught.

He never wanted to blow up around Hyungwon, never wanted the beautiful boy to see just how ugly he is on the inside. But now that he has, there’s so much to say — an apology for worrying him, a demand for an apology for him worrying Minhyuk, questions of what he’s doing here and why didn’t he tell him beforehand, pleas to stop looking at Minhyuk with those eyes that make him feel so very weak — yet his throat clenches around the words. It only has enough room for his heart that was beating against his chest in furiousness at second ago but has now jumped up to trap the breath in his lungs.

“Minhyuk,” Hyungwon whispers, swiping his thumbs in broad arches over Minhyuk’s cheeks.

Minhyuk glances up despite himself at the moon that controls the wild tides in his stomach.

He has never cared much for puzzles. The only ones at the House are those with one thousand or more pieces and they pick at his patience. He doesn’t remember the last time he tried to put one together; it was just too annoying to try to pair two pieces that looked like a match but weren’t.

Hyungwon doesn’t have a mouth that could be easily fit with another. That doesn’t stop Minhyuk’s mind from wondering if his comes close, doesn’t stop the electric  _this is it_  feeling from lighting up Minhyuk’s nerves even if he doesn’t know what  _this_  is.

Cotton of the best quality doesn’t compare to the softness of Hyungwon’s lips as they press, warm and insistent, against Minhyuk’s. It only lasts a second or two, so quick that Minhyuk doesn’t have a chance to do something with his hands or slip his eyes shut.

Hyungwon’s eyelashes flutter like butterfly wings when he peels away and the ones in Minhyuk’s gut rise in response.

Even as carnations bloom in his cheeks, the worried crease quickly returns to Hyungwon’s brow. “Don’t let yourself get stuck inside your own head,” he mumbles, as if speaking any louder will cause Minhyuk to pull away. “It’ll ruin you.”

“Did you just kiss me?” Minhyuk croaks, finding enough air in his compressed chest to exhale the words out.

His fingers itch with the need to touch his lips — perhaps Hyungwon’s too — just to see if this is really happening or if he’ll end up waking himself up from a dream. He resists, curling them in the side seam of his sweats, and runs his tongue over his lips instead.

Hyungwon, oddly, uncharacteristically, averts his eyes. His hands drop from Minhyuk’s jaw to his shoulders. They move over his collarbones to the front of his chest, and just before they can find Minhyuk’s speeding heart, they fall to his sides like autumn leaves.

“You...you weren’t focusing. I needed to direct your attention off of them. I don’t want you to fight them, Minhyuk. Not out here with all of these people watching and surely not because of me.”

He scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip and Minhyuk watches as the plush flesh stretches and shifts under the teasing.

“I’m sorry,” he finds himself saying, dragging his attention back up as Hyungwon regards him with curiosity.

“For what?”

“Chae!”

Both boys turn to look at the crowd of southerners that has already begun to disperse, choosing to let the battle rest for the day after the testy near-conflict they just witnessed. A man, slightly older than them if Minhyuk has to guess based off the spark in his eyes and the familiar, toothy grin he sends Hyungwon's way, waves the flower boy to join him and the small cluster of people as they leave.

Hyungwon nods wordlessly, gesturing that he’d be there in a moment, and slides his warm gaze back to Minhyuk. “Call me if anything goes wrong. Or come over. I was going to stay at home tonight but I’ll go back to the forest for you.”

Minhyuk wants to tell him not to do such things just for him, wants to beg him to stop being so considerate and wonderful. He can’t take it; it’s too much. There’s something pleasant in the aftermath of the tumbling routine his stomach does, a warmth that covers him like a fleece blanket following the stutter of his heart. He doesn't know if he's allowed to but he's starting to crave those strange sensations.

So, he presses his lips together to keep the words silent and nods.

Smiling lightly, a bit of relief softens the stress lines on Hyungwon’s face and he angles forward.

Minhyuk’s eyes fall to his mouth and he unconsciously wets his own.

Suddenly, Hyungwon straightens, blinking furiously and shaking his head as if coming out of a daydream. It knocks Minhyuk out of his as well, and they stare at each other with a foreign weight in the air.

“I should go,” Hyungwon says after a few seconds, already taking steps back.

Minhyuk ignores the muscles in his legs tensing as if they wish to move, to follow.

“Be careful.”

Minhyuk nods. “You too. I’ll try and help the ones they want to question.”

Hyungwon mouths his thanks rather than replying aloud and turns to join the group waiting for him. He plays with the bracelet around his wrist as he walks up to them but doesn’t look back to see Minhyuk watching the group leave until they cross over the peak of the hill.

And it’s for the best — because as soon as they’re not within arms length and Minhyuk sweeps his gaze across the stretch of road outside the gates, the regret hits and drops the heavy chill of winter on his shoulders.

 

The house is in a proper panic, everyone continuing to scramble around searching for ways to combat the morning fiasco well into evening. They had kept media away from the protest, censoring the dissatisfaction over the House’s newest decision, but preventing articles from going out in the press doesn’t stop people from talking and sharing their accounts and pixelated phone videos with each other and on line. It’s a nightmare — from the protests to Minhyuk losing himself to the reactions by the guards of the House. People are going to talk and talk for a while about this. There’s no running away from it. The House needs to find excuses and if they’re going to push Minhyuk out of the narrative again they will have to be good.

He has yet to see her, but Minhyuk knows the Queen was scheduled to return from her vacation a few hours ago. This is an abrupt, horrible welcome home gift after what must have been a relaxing time. While he is filled with a mean sort of vindication at seeing the House’s calm poise descend into madness — and partly because of him — he does feel a bit sorry for her to be surprised with this so suddenly. There isn’t anything worse than coming home to see one’s home caught in wildfire and have to salvage what of it you can before it’s ruined.

Minhyuk picks at a blade of grass, tearing it into thin shreds as he sits in the garden away from the hysteria. It’s not much of a relief because his mind is reeling just the same with the phantom caress of Hyungwon’s mouth against his own.

Any time he lets himself contemplate it, tries to piece together Hyungwon’s given reasoning behind the kiss with the spun sugar, cotton candy pink that dusted in a light powder over his cheeks as he tried to talk Minhyuk out of his wild emotions, his throat tightens around the smallest inhale and his heart threatens to give. But it could have been nothing but embarrassment to blame for the blush. There were so many people around and it was a tense situation. He just wanted to help. He was confused in the face of a side of Minhyuk he’s never witnessed before.

“He doesn’t like you like that,” Minhyuk mumbles.

He drops the string of grass left in his grasp and watches it fall sadly to the ground. Sitting up with a groan, Minhyuk flattens his spine against the rest of the redwood bench and squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to see the sad, limp garden barely hanging on around him.

For a moment, spring returned to the House of Petals as his mother found a sliver of happiness in the darkness she let herself get buried under. Minhyuk was never around to see it, always out with Hyungwon or taking solace in his bedroom or the gym, but he could see the confident sprout of her blooms in the flowers they have potted here and there around the house. But then the coronation brought autumn in a mood that she never explained to Minhyuk and now...now he worries if winter is on the way again. She hasn’t cried since the coronation, not that he’s aware of, and he would hate for her lose her spirit like before.

Because of him. Tangentially, of course, he is at fault for this scenario as well.

But more than the people of this House who are trying to protect themselves and their interests, more than the kingdom as a whole, Minhyuk cares about Hyungwon’s wellbeing. He couldn’t allow the younger boy to be arrested, especially not for trying to defuse a situation between worried constituents and heavy handed guards. Going forward, he can’t predict how the people will react to the news of today’s events or how the House will handle everything, but none of that matters. Even if he wasn’t born of fire, he’d challenge anyone who tried to hurt his rose. Flowers are so fragile, with sensitive petals that fold and break. Hyungwon isn’t so much a delicate thing but he isn’t the kind of fighter that Minhyuk is, isn’t stupid and hotheaded.

Maybe that’s the reason for the headache beginning to pulse behind his brows and the confusion that’s making his stomach churn uncomfortably. Wondering if Hyungwon could possibly feel something deeper for him than simple friendship is incomprehensible. It’s a fantasy. One that's too good to be true.

"Get it together, Minhyuk. He doesn't like you and you don't," threading his fingers in his hair, Minhyuk grips and pulls at the blond strands, "...you don't..."

He blinks his eyes open and casts his gaze to the sky. It's overcast, but he imagines the moon is there illuminated bright behind the clouds. He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, remembers the pressure of Hyungwon's mouth, and sighs.

"You don't want that," he whispers to dying flowers that aren't listening and tells himself he's not lying.

"Please!"

Recoiling at the sudden voice, Minhyuk scans the garden for his mother but catches not even a strand of her hair floating in the light breeze between the tall bushes or the leaves of the apple tree.

"Please," she repeats, desperation stealing the breath at the end of her words. "You have to make sure this gets there as soon as possible. You must not do a single thing else beforehand. Deliver it on foot if you must but you know well to make sure no one finds out."

"Yes, Your Majesty," returns a voice that isn't distinct enough for him to assign to a face. "I'll send it out this very minute. Please try to calm down and rest."

The Queen's voice is quiet when she relays her genuine thanks.

Confusion slows Minhyuk's racing thoughts as he contemplates what his mother could possibly be trying to mail in the midst of all this. Especially if she's going as far as coming outside to make the request, adding on that no one should be made aware of the delivery. Rather curious proceedings, it is, if her package or letter pertains to the situation at hand. But, he supposes the mysteriousness is very characteristic of her.

He frowns, standing from the bench when he hears sniffling and the first choke of a breakdown. Following the winding path of the garden, he finds her alone outside of the door leading back into the East Wing. She holds a trembling hand to her mouth to quiet herself as her slender frame is wracked with terrible sadness and Minhyuk can't help but worry.

His heart feels for her and yet his feet don't move to bring him to her so he can comfort her. Instead, they take ginger steps back until they reach the end of the pathway before turning him around and pushing him deeper into the garden until he can no longer hear her cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: i wrote the protest scene six (6) different ways (the original idea was to have minhyuk actually get into a fight) and i still hate it
> 
> BUT this is the end of part one. hope you enjoyed my sad son now get ready for sad son #2. if i don’t hit ~60,000 words for hyungwon’s pov then i’m a shit writer and i’ll have to quit writing forever so prepare yourselves for more wordy nonsense
> 
> (i can't believe it's taken me 15 months to get this far. thanks for sticking around for so long. i promise i won't take another 15 months to finish)


	12. ii.i

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to hyungwon’s pov. love my second child as much as you love minhyuk please and thanks

_My dearest, Hyungwon,_

_I don’t know if this letter will be kept until you are old enough to read it but it will settle my heart to write it._

_I’m so sorry. So so very sorry._

_I’m sure things are difficult for you. I’m sure you’re confused about why you’re so different from the other children. I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re reading this letter from me._

_I thought I was doing something that would uplift our people to greatness, as befitting of such a wonderful kingdom. We deserve so much._

_You deserve so much._

_And that is why I had to separate you from this place. It has come to my attention that there are things happening here that I could have never imagined and I would never dare to subject you to any of it._

_There are many things I must fix here at home but I promise I will return for you once things have settled._

_Please do not think for even a second that you are not wanted or that I do not love you with my entire being. I want nothing more than to nurture the beautiful flower Ga-in has blessed this kingdom with but at the moment, it is not wise for me to do so. It pains me to leave you to grow into yourself without my help as I fear few will understand you._

_But I have faith I will find a way to make this house a place you can return to soon._

_I will miss you dearly every day that we are apart but perhaps I will come to bring you home before you have even finished learning your letters._

_Until then, you will be in my heart always._

_I love you._

_Your mother,_

_H.C._

 

The kids are out today as they are everyday, rain or shine, during the summer season. Exuberant little things, they are — always with a ball or a length of rope for jumping or a vast assortment of colored chalk. This afternoon, they’re tossing around a soft disc and yelling and pointing fingers over silly game rules that don’t seem to make sense to any of them.

The thing about youth is that you never appreciate the freedom it gives until you’re forced to grow up and can no longer spend six hours a day doing nothing but scraping knees and sharing melting cones of ice cream without a care. The realization that you no longer have that is depressing.

Even more so is the realization that you never really had it in the first place.

A storm is coming. The air is charged and the breeze has strengthened over the last day into a telling wind. It lifts fine dirt off the streets and stirs the leaves until they whistle eerie songs. It’s bound to be a beauty of a storm, and very fitting for the one roiling inside him.

“Are ya gonna come in for lunch or are ya gonna let the birds feed ya?”

Blinking lazily, Hyungwon peers down at his friend under heavy lids. In anticipation of the rain, it’s terribly hot and everything under the relentless sun is beginning to droop.

Including him.

As fresh and full of life as it is, sometimes he thinks he truly detests summer. Most of all, he hates his ancestry, but there is no changing nature’s design.

At the base of the tree, Kihyun stands with a cocked hip and his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his kiwi, cotton shorts but his eyes are an illuminated billboard sign along a lonely stretch of dark road, easy to read and spelling out his concern in bold.

Hyungwon drops his head back against the thick tree trunk, the bark scratching at his scalp. Vivid green leaves flutter around him, tangling and dancing a carefree waltz. He watches them move, listens to them whistle and sing. There’s a squirrel a bit further up, its tail peeking through the green.

“Coming,” he drawls out lethargically.

Uncurling his legs, he tosses them over the side of the only branch in this tree he trusts to hold his weight for more than a few minutes. He drops down to the one below it and then lets himself easily to the ground.

“One of these days you’re gonna split your head open and I’m just gonna stand here and laugh at ya,” says Kihyun, already turning on his heel to walk back into the house.

Hyungwon stretches his arms above his head as he trails behind his friend and soul brother across the grass. “Sure,” he replies with an exaggerated hum of disbelief.

Pulling open the front door, Kihyun glances back over his shoulder as he motions for Hyungwon to go in ahead of him. His lips flatten into a single line. “Ya okay?”

Hyungwon’s head bobs heavily and clumsily, like a newborn that can’t support himself, when he nods. “S’hot.”

That isn’t the correct answer to the actual question and Kihyun doesn’t let him pass the test.

Grabbing the back of his shirt, Kihyun drags Hyungwon back when the younger boy tries to cross into the house. “Let’s try this again, hm?”

If he wasn’t so bogged down, he probably would have sucked his teeth and swat at Kihyun’s crow’s feet hands, but, as it is, he can’t muster up more than another heavy sigh.

Is he okay? He doesn’t know.

He couldn’t sleep the night he returned from the House of Petals, left wondering how Minhyuk was doing until even the moon retreated to bed. He dragged himself here, hoping the comfort only home can bring would lull him to sleep and instead was greeted with Ma's frown and a letter with his name in a clean script he never thought he'd see again.

It made him laugh because of course, _of course_ , she'd send him one right after he decided to free himself from her influence. The first letter in nearly three years and the first he has read in a little bit longer than that. It made him hopeful because no matter how much Hyungwon tries to leave her behind, he’ll never be able to and the young boy in him still wants to know his mother. It made him angry because no matter how much Hyungwon tries to leave her behind, he’ll never be able to. It made him upset because he got word from her but had yet to hear from the hurricane he left— has yet to hear from the hurricane he left.

He hasn’t cried, so maybe it’s okay to claim he is doing alright.

Hyungwon’s lids slip heavily over his eyes as he blinks and they don’t reopen more than half-mast. “Relatively,” he answers. It’s the best one he can give without feeling like he’s lying.

Kihyun still doesn’t like it, the crease between his brows staying fixed on his angular face, but he accepts it when he recognizes that Hyungwon is too out of it for an argument. Hyungwon doesn’t know if they’ll return to this conversation later, if they’ll have time between sundown and when Hyungwon leaves for the night.

He hopes not; he doesn’t know if he’ll have enough strength to walk out of this house if they do. The heat is already physically draining as it is.

The restaurant is bustling as always, the sounds of chatter and silverware clinking spilling out into the front entrance. They bypass the small eatery for the stairs. Hyungwon trips on the last step, his legs stiffening under him suddenly, but he catches himself with a hand on the wall.

Kihyun turns back, regarding him with concern. Long used to this after all their years together, he wordlessly extends a hand and holds Hyungwon steady as they continue on to their shared room.

“I’ll bring the food in,” Kihyun says after leading Hyungwon to his bed.

Nodding, Hyungwon mumbles his thanks and lies on his side. He lifts his legs onto the bed, curling his knees into his chest. Just above his head, tucked beneath his pillow, is the pretty, folded stationary of her letter. His fingers itch to reach up and slide it out but he resists. He went four years without letting her rule his sanity from afar; he isn’t going to break now.

He isn’t the lost little boy he used to be, holding onto her promises of returning and making things right. Until she starts proving herself with actions, he isn’t to think of her as anyone other than the woman who birthed him and then decided he was too much work to raise. He’s better than this.

“You’re taking the heat a little hard. Do ya still want to go tonight?”

Hyungwon peels his eyes open, unaware of when he had allowed them to drift shut, and finds Kihyun standing in the doorway with a plate of toasted bread topped with thinly sliced tomato and ham in each hand. He follows Kihyun with his eyes as he walks across the room to sit the plates on their desk before joining Hyungwon at the bed.

He sits at Hyungwon’s feet and places a comforting hand just above the tan, breaded bracelet at his ankle.

“It wouldn’t be selfish to stay,” he reminds and suddenly they’re no longer talking about the heat sucking out his energy.

Pushing himself up, Hyungwon shakes his head. “I’ll be fine.” He glances at his pillow covering the letter. “Plus, I have something I need to talk to her about.”

 

Evening brings fireworks and drums as the clouds tear open and spill. The wind, enraged and violent, snaps one of the posts of Hyungwon’s umbrella as he waits for the streetlight to change on the corner of a near empty street. Few are out in this weather and those who are ride protected in their cars.

Standing there, receiving harsh lashes from the unforgiving downpour, Hyungwon takes a moment to lament never sitting for the driving examination due to the naive thought that he’d be fine moving around on foot as he does. Even Kihyun is permitted to drive although the Yoo’s hardly have the money a vehicle any sort of quality requires.

Angling his umbrella against the wind, Hyungwon crosses the lonely road. Nightfall brought with it some peace from the sun, though it is much too early for the storm to cool the air to a reasonable temperature. Still, it is manageable enough.

The spirit of the flora in his blood relishes in the gift of water as the flowers do, no matter how undesirable the way his trousers cling to his legs or his hair to his face. He feels lighter. Not similar to what he feels on a nice spring or autumn day, but enough to have no fear of collapsing and losing all strength.

“This better be worth i—ah!” Hyungwon’s grumbling is cut off when his umbrella begins to get carried away. Rain batters his face as he wrestles it under control like a hunter would a thrashing snake.

Sighing, he quickens his pace to the fine building of strong stone pillars and arches and crawling wild ivy: The National Museum of History. Built two generations ago, it tells the story of his people from even before their Highest Queen, Ga-in, sprouted in the heavenly Forest blessed by the Fates. He’s never visited before, if only because it’s too much hassle to get to the city and he has little need to when he has learned all of this in school. But — although under different circumstances would have been better — it’s still nice to come. He may hate the royal family but he still adores his kingdom.

Walking around the side of the building, he finds one of the side entrances tucked between two apple trees. There is most likely a camera shooting this area but he has no doubt she would have the issue of video footage taken care of. Or maybe she’d forget that small detail in her panic — because she must be in a tizzy to request this of him on such short notice. Or at all. Perhaps the protest is having some internal impact.

Thankfully, the door pulls open in the direction of the wind and he slips into the museum’s side stairwell. He drops his umbrella by the door, not bothering to shake the moisture off it.

Wiping fruitlessly at his similarly wet face, Hyungwon sighs as he exits through the door leading into one of the open exhibition rooms. Artistic renditions of Ga-in greet him and he glances over the portraits and sculptures with a common eye as he passes through the room and into the next.

The lobby is empty when he trails in, his hair still dripping pesky droplets in his face, on his shoulders, on the floor. His lips sink into a frown at the discomfort as well as the absence of the one he is here to meet. He wanders down another hall, walking into a showcase of the monarchy.

Detailed portraits of every descendant and smaller memorials to the other members of royal lineage line the walls. And standing before the portrait of the previous King, Hanbyul Chae, is the woman he’s only ever seen in magazines or on television screens. For as poised as she is, back straight and head held high on her shoulders, she looks so small. Without the expensive dress she’s usually photographed in, instead clad in a pair of ordinary jeans and a cream blouse with a ruffled neck, Hyungwon can’t help but question if this is truly the woman who holds so much power over him.

He can’t help but question if this is even happening and not just an elaborate dream conjured out of his worry for Minhyuk and the shard of love for her that he’ll never be able to cleanse himself of completely.

But even as a piece of his heart soars in wonder, another part of it can’t sink any lower.

Hyungwon sniffs and watches with an emotionless gaze as his mother turns to face him. The gasp that rips from her throat as they lock eyes only sours his mood.

She isn’t allowed to have that damp, overwhelmed sheen to her eyes. She is the one who gave him away. She is the one who never bothered to visit the orphanage or the Forest. All of this is her fault.

Sucking in a breath, Hyungwon bows his head in a manner only appropriate for the commoner status he’s lived with his entire life. “Best of days to you, Your Majesty.”

“Hyungwon, please.” She approaches with quick steps. She lifts him out of his bow with a brittle grasp and holds him by the shoulders, regarding him with awe as she looks him over. The water in her eyes builds but she holds it back well. “You’ve grown so much. Into such a beautiful boy, no less.”

He wants to ask how she can say that, wants to ask how she even knows he is who he has silently claimed to be, but there is nothing to question when they unmistakably share the same eyes.

Rolling his shoulders back, Hyungwon shakes off her hands. He casts his eyes to the side. His great-grandaunt’s face stares back at him. She wasn’t a descendant, but Hyungwon knows almost every member of his family tree.

“It’s interesting you would call upon me now,” he says, “after not being concerned with me for so long.”

The Queen makes to reach out to him but restrains herself and shakes her head. “That’s not true, Hyungwon.”

Hyungwon’s eyes flick toward her before turning to a plaque on the wall for his great-grandmother. Descendant. “Isn’t it? Sixteen years since you gave me away and all I have to show for your care and love are a bunch of empty words, a house that keeps me isolated from society, and a bracelet?”

Her thin, painted lips mirror his own in a frown. “This hasn’t been easy for me either. The position I’m in is rather difficult to handle.”

Nodding his head, Hyungwon turns his attention to another portrait. It’s of a young boy. Ga-in’s third son and descendant. “Was it difficult for you to crown your other son as heir? Or did that have nothing to do with whatever it is you’ve needed over sixteen years to fix.”

“Hyungwon…”

Shaking his head, he continues. “If I was any other person, hearing the news of the coronation would have hurt so much more. And it hurt a lot.” He purses his lips and tries to maintain enough poise to not laugh. “Because I could no longer figure out what the point was in promising to come back for me when surely business could continue as usual without me. I thought it would have been better if you had actually abandoned me.”

Heeyoung falls silent, despair darkening the shadows overlaying her face.

Hyungwon eyes her, hating how his stomach turns over with anger and longing and mistrust and pity. “And what of the Nadirian boy? Who is he? I can’t imagine why anyone would agree to play a public guessing game like that. What does he get out of all this? What do _you_ get out of it aside from not having to acknowledge that I was exiled? Is letting the people run wild with their theories something else that’s rather difficult to handle?”

His mother stiffens, her mouth opening as if to protest and Hyungwon waits a moment for words that never come.

He sighs and drifts around the Queen to examine the exhibit. This is his lineage and yet he doubts if anyone will ever learn about him. He stops in front of her portrait, sees the skilled rendition of the brother he has no memory of ever knowing in his peripherals. “Why did you ask me to come here, Your Majesty?”

The silence that follows rings in his ears.

Her shoes tap against the floor behind him. She inhales shakily, sounding only seconds from releasing a flood of tears. “I’m so proud of you, Hyungwon, and I’m so sorry I caused you to hurt like this.”

Hyungwon wipes at the water on his nose and unconsciously matches his breathing to hers. His stomach twists again and he wonders if this is her way of telling him that all of those empty words were just that...empty.

“I remember the day you were born. There was frost in the air and yet every winter flower, every shrub, every tree welcomed you. One of Ga-in’s own. But I had made a mistake — made many mistakes that I am working on, yes, even now and I realized it would be better to keep you away from the chaos of it all.”

”But not Prince Hyunwoo?” Hyungwon interrupts, finally turning away from the painted image of his mother to look at the real woman. In oil, she’s immortal; in flesh, the pockets under her eyes are storm clouds.

She shakes her head. “Hyunwoo is not a child of Ga-in.”

It’s all a power thing.

That doesn’t surprise him at all. He had gone through a number of possible reasons for why she would remove him from the house and the idea of someone trying to mold the royal family came to him early. But, standing there and listening to her apologize rather than tell him that she is ready to accept him back into the family only makes Hyungwon think that the appropriate measures to ensure his safety in the House still haven’t been taken. 

He should have known. He _did_  know. Yet, he still came to be told the same thing he read for a decade.

”What of the Nadirian boy?”

The Queen drops her head and squeezes her eyes shut. “Another mistake I am still working on.”

Hearing that hurts more than everything else she did and didn’t say. Hyungwon doubts she will tell him of the circumstances around Minhyuk’s being in the House considering her reluctance to explain her so-called mistakes in detail. So he doesn’t push. Minhyuk seems to believe so wholeheartedly that he is the misfortunate second prince. It would be inappropriate for Hyungwon to learn this about him before he himself is told.

Clenching his fists at his sides, Hyungwon watches as his mother peels her eyes open and regards him with such a clear beg for forgiveness in her eyes. And he would forgive her...he’d forgive her in a heartbeat if she wasn’t such a coward and would admit what mistake she made that brought them to this point — the one she hasn’t found a solution for in at least nineteen years — or tell him anything of worth at all. He deserves that much.

Inhaling deeply, Hyungwon takes a step toward her. Her eyes light up with hope but Hyungwon doesn’t look into them for very long as he repeats his greeting bow. “If it’s easier for you, Your Majesty,” he starts as he rises out of it, “you don’t have to bother with me. I’m fine where I am.” When he moves past her for the exit, she reaches for him weakly as her tears spill over. He pauses in the doorway of the exhibit and ignores how every inch of his body feels sick under his warring emotions. “But if you don’t help that innocent boy, I’ll never forgive you.”

And with those final words he leaves her to sob amongst the dead, painted eyes of their ancestors.

It isn’t until he’s standing outside, umbrella hanging in his limp grip and rain battering his face, that he lets his paper legs fold weakly beneath him.

 

"You're moping."

It's been five days.

Perhaps, on the second day, when he climbed the only thing a little bit of disappointment wouldn't cause to droop on top of the heat and picked at leaves and watched the neighborhood kids play for hours, he was moping. He might agree to that. Or, on the third day, when he ventured past the orphanage, needing a quick glimpse of the old, stained house he spent his formative years in to remind himself of why he can't trust his mother and felt his stomach churn more viciously each second he stood there on the corner across the street.

But, after five days?

"I'm not moping."

He's _worried_.

He and Minhyuk didn't talk very much when they weren't physically near, mostly on account that Hyungwon spent so much time in the forest anticipating Minhyuk's visits and there was little reception directed out there, but they kept in contact enough to talk about everything (but mostly nothing). Now, it feels like Minhyuk has gone out to sea without leaving either of them a lifeline — not a phone or a letter in a bottle or a conch shell — and Hyungwon has never been so bothered by silence before.

The way they separated was less than ideal, with Minhyuk in a weird head-space and tension heavier than the humidity in the air, and in the absence of any sort of confirmation that the older boy is okay, Hyungwon can't help but worry.

In the few months he's known Minhyuk he never thought the older boy to be quick to enrage. Minhyuk was always so easy-going, a little sensitive and emotional, but usually the first star in the sky. But when Minhyuk suddenly appeared at the demonstration, he had summer in his eyes — the summer Hyungwon hates, that is nothing but heat so overwhelming that the slightest downward wind could spark a brushfire.

It was surprising. It was frightening. Mostly, it was saddening. Concerning.

There is no putting out a fire left to burn for years.

Kihyun breaks off a chunk of sweet bread and holds it out for Hyungwon to take.

Glancing over with a raised brow, Hyungwon's lips curl into a small smile at the unusual offering and reaches for the sweet, only for Kihyun to snatch his hand back and eat the morsel himself.

Scoffing a sound more of a laugh than offense, Hyungwon shoves the smaller man with a flat palm against his shoulder.

Kihyun cackles good-naturedly, sticking out the very tip of his tongue at Hyungwon even as he wobbles to keep his balance.

They're out in the market that afternoon, Kihyun on orders to do grocery shopping for the family as well as a few other errands and Hyungwon tagging along with nothing better to do. It's lively as ever as merchants brag about their wares amongst familiar chatting in the open air space.

This place was never supposed to be his home and yet Hyungwon doesn't know anything else, doesn't know if he'd care to. Then again, he can't miss the city, can't miss the House of Petals if he has long forgotten when he used to live there.

"That's the first time I've seen ya smile all week," Kihyun says. He offers Hyungwon another bite of bread, bigger than the last and without tricks.

It leaves crumbs on Hyungwon's fingers and he sucks them off with a hum. "That doesn't mean I'm moping," he says, smile thinning out. He dries his damp fingertips on his jeans and tries not to frown. "Also, you're forgetting that I was summoned by my mother. Surely you didn't expect me to be walking sunshine after that."

Kihyun sighs and shakes his head. "Well, no, but I figured ya would be affected by that. Not so much by the stray city boy ya picked up not calling ya."

Kihyun was the rock who kept Hyungwon sane back before he was old enough to leave the orphanage and before his mother told him of the cottage she commissioned deep in the Forest. He was a strange figure to Hyungwon back then — a boy with a loving mother and friends, who cared about nature in the same way everyone else does in this kingdom but couldn't differentiate between a sunflower and a black eyed susan. He was one of the few people who didn't think Hyungwon was lying about his affinity to flora or disrespecting the crown and their heritage. (He still is one of the few people who don't think he's lying. The people who accept Hyungwon with welcoming arms now choose to believe he simply has an amazing green thumb and love for flowers.)

They don't keep very many secrets from each other; it's not easy to do so when they're as close as they are. Kihyun knows Minhyuk as the poor city boy who has his name dragged through the mud by tabloids because the House still hasn't crafted a lie to explain Hyungwon's absence. He thinks Minhyuk is another way of Hyungwon clinging to the House that threw him away. He doesn't know the lies Minhyuk has been told, the title he's been given but disallowed from living under. He doesn't know that Minhyuk has, somewhat, stolen his identity. And Hyungwon would like to keep it that way for now.

He'd rather Kihyun think he's still holding on and desperate for acknowledgement from his birth family than allow him to know that Hyungwon has fallen into something that he doesn't understand and doesn't know how to navigate.

"It's...not that simple. You're making it sound like I'm a schoolboy with a crush."

Kihyun glances at him with a raised eyebrow. "Aren't ya?"

Although Hyungwon chooses not to respond, the warmth he feels flare up beneath his skin is answer enough to Kihyun who grins.

"What did ya call 'im that one time? A 'lilac'?"

Hyungwon's blush deepens and suddenly he notices the weight of his bracelet around his ankle. "Hush. Ya don't even know what that means," he retorts, accent slipping out in his flustered state.

"But I can guess." Kihyun laughs.

Shoving Kihyun again, Hyungwon tries to redirect the conversation. "Don't ya have things to buy? Leave me alone."

Kihyun continues to laugh as he dips into a bow. "As you wish," he jests, his attempt to sound formal made comical by his thick accent.

He promises to call when he is finished shopping before making a turn for the grocer that they have long passed.

Alone, Hyungwon tries to calm the heat beneath his cheeks and the airy feeling in his chest. There was no good in letting himself feel like that when it most likely wouldn't amount to anything. Minhyuk already has so much to deal with — and so much more that he isn't yet aware of — and while Hyungwon finds himself curious of the way he fumbles sometimes in Hyungwon's presence, he isn't going to assume what it means. If it means anything at all. He hasn't heard from Minhyuk in days after all.

Kicking up a small cloud of dirt, Hyungwon finally moves from the spot where Kihyun left him. He wanders past the various jewelry stands and the artisan figurines and clayware. The woman who tells fortunes in tea leaves calls out to him with a warm grin, beckoning him over for a quick read. Usually, he likes to entertain her — she's a motherly sort despite the permanent mischief in her eyes and although he's always taken her fortunes with skepticism, she was another one of the only people who treated him with respect as a child — but that day he passes her by with an apologetic frown.

There is nothing he wants to buy. The flower stall he likes to visit when he comes to the market lies farther up the wide road and he contemplates how well he is feeling. For as much as he is overwhelmed with a variety of feelings concerning the events in his life as of late, most of what he feels is confusion. He's not angry at his mother — not any more than usual at least — but simply unsure of what her motivations are. He's not terribly depressed (or moping) over Minhyuk's silence, just hopeful that he isn't in any trouble with the guards or his 'family'.

Hyungwon stops for a moment before a small booth selling candied and dessert fruit. He looks over the sign advertising chocolate covered strawberries. As he stands, teething at his bottom lip, someone brushes against him from behind like a firm wind.

"Can I have a box of fifteen chocolate strawberries?" If Kihyun finishes shopping fast enough, maybe they can make it home before the chocolate gets too sticky and share.

The teenage boy running the booth grins and nods, immediately grabbing a carrying box and rising from his stool. "Gonna pick up a flower for the day?"

Hyungwon hums as he dips his hand into his back pocket and pulls out the slip of paper tucked in there a moment ago. Written on the outside is a familiar letter 'J'. He doesn't bother turning around to search for the person who left it as he undoes the folds.

"Maybe," he answers as he reads over the note. "I'll see if there are any daisies."


	13. ii.ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> with every update, i ruin this story more and more
> 
> also, if you remember minhyuk's pov where there were random headlines here and there, in hyungwon's pov those are replaced by letters from the queen

The fireflies are out early, the melted candy pinks, purples, and oranges of the sky only recently darkening into dark blues and near blacks. When he first wandered the forest at night, only days after he had heard from his mother that she had a small house built deep within the wood - for his benefit, she had said, to reunite him with her spirit through proxy - he thought the tiny, flickering things were beautiful. It wasn't long before they began to lose their majesty as their sheer population became more of a nuisance than something to marvel. Or, perhaps, Hyungwon simply became long disillusioned with and jaded by the sacred Forest of Lights.

One of the insects drifts by his face, lighting up between his eyes, and he brushes it away with a hand. Sighing, he raises his eyes from the slightly worn path beneath his sandaled feet and up to the thick canopies of the trees lining him in every direction. It is always rather dim in the Forest, light having to force its way through the leaves, but even with the solar bulbs he strung high on the tree's branches to light his way, it seems darker than usual.

He detests it, this Forest, and it stabs deep in his chest to think such thoughts.

If she had never left him, he would have never felt this way. If she had just let him go, thought him too much trouble, he would have never felt this way. If she allowed him the distance to craft himself into an independent man, rather than one clinging to phantoms that may never materialize, he would have never felt this way.

He holds so much pride in his kingdom and not just because he is born of the Fates’ blessing. They are a great nation, strong in heart and warm. But they are a kingdom in despair as well, wrapped in what seems to have been avoidable chaos.

Mistakes, she had called her unknown actions. Everyone slips at times. Such is natural. But to have committed a blunder so big that the only solution was to send away her heir, that she found misguided reason in taking in another child, that she will not expose what it is that she has done...is it appropriate to call such a compound a ‘mistake’?

Shaking his head, Hyungwon hastens his pace through the Forest. He has told himself time and time again to stop letting himself get hung up on her, on his ‘family’. His pubescent years were spent pining and wishing her absence was like a cicada cycle except that when she returned, he hoped she wouldn't disappear for another eleven years. He told himself to stop hoping and he will.

The cabin is just as he left it ten days ago. A quick glance tells him that he will have to prune some of the flowers out front. Between the sudden heat and the sudden rainstorm, some of his plants have taken quite a beating. But, no matter how broken they are, they reach out for him, their petals swaying as if swept up in a breeze.

He runs his fingers over some of them in an apologetic caress as he walks up to the door, sorry for neglecting them for over a week.

It is always bittersweet to return to the cabin after staying at home. The Forest’s painful solitude amongst the thought of his birthright is suffocating but his garden is always a joy to return to. It is his creation, his everything.

Being blessed, he has no biological or spiritual need to grow or maintain his own garden, but being surrounded by nature puts him at ease. The children of Ga-in are not nurturers as much as they are flowers themselves, in a way. Born in winter, Hyungwon is sensitive to heat as any other flower of the cold season would be. But he is also attuned to the health of his land and his land is sensitive to him as well. They are one and the same.

His garden is a place of sanctuary, something to call his own and love as the strange relationship between him and his mother began to sour his image of himself, his heritage, and his place in the kingdom.  Never will he regret leaving the Forest for a proper home elsewhere and abandoning all of the hurt he's been carrying for nineteen years, but he will lament being unable to bring most of his flowers if - when - he leaves. Certainly, they will wilt without him there. So many of them require sunlight that cannot penetrate through the trees and live hanging by a precarious thread so long as he is around and happy enough for his spirit to enrich them. All living things must die but it pains Hyungwon to think these perennials and annuals would have lived longer and bloomed again were they in the proper environment.

Pushing open the door to the cabin and flipping the switch on his battery operated lamp, Hyungwon toes off his sandals in the entryway and immediately walks to the small kitchen space. Ma was sweet enough to pack a couple meals worth of food for him, knowing that his diet isn't the best when he returns to the Forest and is often too lazy to leave it for groceries.

He places the heavy bag down on the counter and takes out the full, plastic containers to keep in his small fridge. There are cuts of watermelon on the bottom shelf and he takes them out, making a mental note to toss them.

Once he finishes putting away the food, he shuts the small refrigerator door and eyes the watering can he keeps by the sink. After the rain, none of the flowers probably need much water.

Leaving the kitchen empty-handed, he walks back out the door and then outside. The dirt of the forest floor feels soft under his feet, still a little loose from the rain but no longer muddy. He walks around to his garden, wondering if it's in the same condition as the potted plants out front.

He pauses for a moment between the crape myrtle trees, realizing the lights are on. A frown tugs at his lips. He swore he turned them off before he left. The small gas-powered generator he has wouldn't have been able to sustain the lights. Or so he thought. He doesn't remember the last time he topped off the gas.

Shaking his head, he continues down the hill into the garden, deciding to leave it be for now and check the generator at some point.

As he walks through the garden, he quickly appraises his flowers. They aren't doing so badly when he looks at first glance, although he notices the winds have ripped petals and stems.

“Did you miss me?” he asks aloud to the flowers that sway in his direction. A sunflower flares its petals at him and he cracks a fond smile as he passes and turns down another row.

Summer nights don't chill very much, enough to dry the sweat that builds during the day but still warm and muggy. Yet, a chill freezes Hyungwon to the bone so deeply that his ankles lock. He blinks once, twice, and then many times as he tries to rationalize what he's seeing. His mouth parts in surprise but he can't seem to form any words with his tongue nor in his brain.

He tries to think back to earlier, tries to remember if he had ever received some kind of sign but all that comes to the forefront of his mind is confused static. He is sure, though, that there was nothing of the sort. Absolutely nothing. For ten days. Not a phone call or a letter in a bottle or a conch shell.

Hyungwon was left ashore alone, left ignorant of if the hurricane had picked up wind as soon as he fled inland or if it had weakened into a manageable rainstorm. Abandonment isn’t foreign to him; he knows what it feels like to wait for someone to come home. And he was starting to think that maybe he would have to wait for a while.

Collecting himself, Hyungwon takes ginger steps toward the tree. He squats down before it, tucking his knees under his chin, and stares at the parted lips of the man lying on the edge of his garden.

His frown returns as he takes in the knit of his brows that apparently even sleep couldn't smooth out. Reaching out a hand, Hyungwon lightly drags his forefinger from the center of Minhyuk's hairline down the length of his sharp nose.

“Why didn't you tell me you were coming?” he whispers, returning his hand to Minhyuk's hair to tease his fingers through the blond strands. “I would have been here for you.”

There are more questions Hyungwon wants to ask but he bites his tongue when Minhyuk stirs.

The older boy doesn't wake as he unconsciously leans into Hyungwon who sits properly next to him. He wears his heart on his sleeve even when asleep, so admirably true and raw. It's beautiful. He's beautiful.

Hyungwon doesn't know how long they sit there, under the darkening sunset peeking through the clearing and amongst the fluttering of the fireflies, before Minhyuk does awaken with a deep inhale and scrunch of his nose. Hyungwon calmly removes his fingers from the blond’s hair and shifts away to give him space.

Minhyuk lies still for a moment, long enough for Hyungwon to question if he returned to sleep, but then he’s reaching out a hand, fingers splayed as if he’s searching for something. Hyungwon isn't sure if it's what Minhyuk wants, but he grasps Minhyuk’s large hand and squeezes it comfortingly.

“I made you wait,” he says, eying the clasp of their hands.

Minhyuk inhales and exhales. His eyelids flutter delicately when he peels them back and he fixes earthen eyes on their hands as well, their bracelets slipping down their wrists and dangling close.

He draws a short line into the back of Hyungwon's thumb with his own. “I should say the same to you,” he murmurs.

Making a noise of protest, Hyungwon shakes his head. He doesn't know the extent of trouble they caused the House but he won't blame Minhyuk for not being able to visit or call, no matter how much he did worry.

“When did you come?”

Minhyuk unhooks their hands and pushes himself up to sit, folding his legs into a loose knot. “Earlier in the afternoon. I'm not supposed to be outside but fuck it. Fuck them.”

The vulgar language takes Hyungwon by surprise and he raises his eyebrows. It's nothing to be offended over —as proper as he forces himself to be, Hyungwon did grow up amongst a loose-lipped bunch, but Minhyuk didn't. Hyungwon didn't think the House would let him get away with internalizing that kind of language. Then again, he knows the House never bothered to treat Minhyuk like the prince they told him he is.

“If they didn't want me, they should have thrown me out years ago instead of keeping me locked up,” Minhyuk rants, pushing a hand angrily through his hair.

Hyungwon is quick to attend to the messy strands, smoothing them down flat. “What happened?” he asks in a quiet voice, acting as the winter to Minhyuk's summer. “Things got a little out of hand, but I didn't think they were so bad as to really affect the House.”

Sighing, Minhyuk finally glances over at Hyungwon. “It was more so the fact that I got involved than anything you all did that caused an issue. There's too much speculation about me and they're tired of me drawing attention to myself.”

“But if they didn't want that then they should have introduced you,” Hyungwon says with a small frown, both playing the fool and genuinely annoyed at his birth family.

He's lived through rumors over just who is the second prince and why hasn't he greeted the public his entire life but he doesn't think he'll ever understand. He can understand that he's safer outside the House if he assumes there's someone inside who may be a danger. What he can't understand is how his mother came to take in this boy from wherever she found him or what possessed her to force him to live a lie. He can’t even begin to guess.

“Yeah,” Minhyuk laughs without humor, “yeah, that would make sense, wouldn’t it? But I guess there’s no point when they already have a prince who isn’t the heir. Why acknowledge two?”

Hyungwon mentally shrugs off the discomfort that threatens to weigh him down at the talk of the heir to the throne.

“And they only need one prince to brainwash into starting a territory war with Nadir,” Minhyuk says. “Too bad they didn’t choose the one who not only looks the part but who is—“

“Wait,” Hyungwon cuts in, holding up a hand for Minhyuk to stop. “What do you mean by territory war?”

Why would they have a conflict over land with Nadir? Why would they have conflict with anyone at all? They aren't aggressive, no matter how much the King wants to buff up their military.

Minhyuk nods solemnly. “I found out from Hyunwoo. They think our land extends further south beyond our current border with Nadir and want it back. Actually, apparently a lot of the Council believes Nadir cheated us during negotiations following the War of Threes.”

The new information swirls around in Hyungwon’s head but it’s too foreign to settle. “But Nadir didn’t get that much out of it,” he mumbles, trying to rationalize what he’s heard.

The War of Threes was a desperate attempt to grab power between the most favored tribes of the Mauan and Aex regions after corruption and greed lead to fighting between them. It started as a mostly internal affair, although the already established, yet small, nation of Nadir fueled the unrest in an attempt to destabilize the region and expand their influence by supplying weaponry to conflicting sides of the war. But when Ga-in united the people under her, Nadir eventually drew out of the war after peace talks.

Hyungwon’s lessons about the war suggested they had come out on top of the fight. They gave up some of what they considered their land to Nadir, but not so much that it made a difference.

"Tell that to the council." Minhyuk scoffs again, the emotionless chuckle rough as it grates against the insides of Hyungwon's ears.

This won't do, all of this talk about the House. For all that this outrageous news baffles and worries him, Hyungwon isn't supposed to be allowing himself to be concerned with their decisions and Minhyuk has come looking for an escape.

Dropping a hand on Minhyuk's thigh, Hyungwon offers a warm smile, hoping Minhyuk doesn't see the number of apologies written in his gaze when the older man looks at him. "You've been out here for a while. Are you hungry?" he asks, unconsciously squeezing the firm muscle over Minhyuk's loose pants. He chuckles when the older boy hops out of reflex. "Ma made me bring back a lot of food. I won't be able to eat it all by myself before it goes bad."

A playful grin Hyungwon hasn't had the pleasure of seeing in a long while breaks across Minhyuk's face. He missed this look on the older boy. The lines of tension and stress that hardened Minhyuk's countenance these last long weeks were so wrong and out of place. Minhyuk's charm has always been in the refreshing quality of his smile: broad and loud and warm. The summer that Hyungwon adores. And it's still not quite all the way there, dampened by an unease that Hyungwon can't grasp, but it's close.

"I guess there is some country in you if you call Ms. Yoo 'Ma'," he teases, a gleam in his eyes.

Hyungwon angles his head to the side. "What d'ya mean by ya 'guess there is some country in me?" Hyungwon replies with a raised brow, letting his words drag off his tongue in the easy southern drawl he's never used around the older boy.

Minhyuk's eyes widen in surprise, taken aback by the sudden accent. But then he laughs. It's small, but it comes from his stomach, throaty and warm, and it settles like a thin blanket over Hyungwon. "Wow, that's kind of weird but I love it? Is it your natural dialect?"

The prince hums and uses the hand still on Minhyuk's leg to pinch him. "Have ya been thinking I was the same as ya, city boy?"

He expects a joke, a tease back, another crackling log fire laugh, but the sparkle in Minhyuk's eyes softens into calm candlelight and the stretch of his grin folds in on itself, shy. "Of course not," he says, in a tone that settles like a gentle breeze between them. "How could I? We can connect on some things that are similar, but you're so unlike me. I don't have anything going for me. I'm unmotivated and emotional and more of a liability than anyone of value."

Minhyuk drops his eyes to the ground, feeling some kind of shame maybe, but Hyungwon stares at the sliver of his irises the color of coffee with a spoon of milk with his own rounded, near green eyes, unable to look away.

"It'd be an insult to you to think we are the same," Minhyuk continues. "You're rational and educated and complex and beaut--... Every time I think I really know you, you reveal another part of yourself that I could have never expected."

A blush tickles Hyungwon's cheeks at the other boy's words and the admiration in his gaze.

It's too much.

Just as he promised to leave behind the feelings of longing for his mother, it wouldn't be good for him to entertain the butterflies in his stomach that twirl in a ditzy dance under the older boy's attention. But where he can force distance with his mother, Hyungwon is powerless to fight against Minhyuk’s gravity. It’s hard not to be pulled in; when Minhyuk is always so sweet and charming and familiar, it’s so very hard not to fall into orbit.

“Minhyuk, I could say any of that about you,” Hyungwon says softly, reaching for Minhyuk’s hand to hold in his own again. “If you don’t have any value, then how do you explain how much I cherish your presence?”

“Hyungwon...”

Minhyuk raises his head to look at Hyungwon, eyes still gentle and heartbreaking, and Hyungwon feels it — the impulse to brush his knuckles over the sharp edge of Minhyuk’s cheekbones and draw him closer. The same impulse that led him to kiss Minhyuk outside the House of Petals.

So he draws back, mustering up a comforting smile and squeezing Minhyuk’s hand once more before releasing it. Because he could make up an excuse then about wanting to distract Minhyuk and not knowing how back then, but he doesn’t think he could explain doing it again now.

 

“Do you want to tend to your flowers?”

Blinking, Hyungwon shakes himself out of his stupor. He finds his eyes unfocused on the spray bottles he uses to water his garden when the flowers need a little drizzle rather than a flood.

The tap runs warm over his hands and he shakes his head as he finishes washing their dishes from dinner. “No. I’ll look at them tomorrow.” When Minhyuk isn’t around to see the way their petals will slowly repair under Hyungwon’s presence.

Tapping his nails on the counter where he leans held up by his elbows, Minhyuk tilts his head to the side. “Are you sure they’ll be okay? They looked a little out of shape. The rain was pretty rough,” he voices his concern.

Hyungwon waves him off with a hand covered in suds and a hum. “Another few hours won’t make much of a difference.”

He rinses off a spoon and lays it on a thick towel beside the sink to dry. He picks up the last dish to wash, another spoon, and proceeds to scrub it clean. Next to him, he sees Minhyuk begin to vibrate before he hears the fiery cinnamon of his laugh.

Raising an eyebrow, Hyungwon glances over at the older boy. His lips twitch into a smile on their own, even if he doesn’t know what suddenly amused Minhyuk.

“What’s so funny?”

Minhyuk meets his stare with eyes crinkled in precious crescents. “I was just thinking about when we first met. I found you lying in the middle of your roses,” he says and Hyungwon hums to show he remembers. “And now, months later, the roles have changed.”

“But you weren’t lying in the roses,” Hyungwon comments. He lets out a small giggle when Minhyuk huffs and shoves his shoulder. “It is funny. I guess I’m rubbing off on you.”

Falling back on his elbows, Minhyuk slumps down further to fit his chin in his palm. “I hope not. Tried the barefoot thing once and I don’t know how you do it everywhere—

“I don’t do it everywhere.”

—You’re too much of a wild child for me. A wild flower child.”

Hyungwon places the cleaned spoon on the towel beside the other once he finishes and turns off the tap. Flicking the water clinging to his hands at Minhyuk, he chuckles. “All I’m hearing is that you’re a boring city boy.”

The pout Minhyuk pushes his lips into as he wipes at the droplet of water that landed under his eye pleases the butterflies taking up a permanent residency in Hyungwon’s chest.

“Are you going to make fun of me for being a city boy forever?”

Hyungwon wipes his hands on an unoccupied corner of the towel and nods. “Yes.”

“Even though you pretend to be one?”

Those words bring Hyungwon to a standstill as his eyes open to a new perspective with startling clarity. That is what he’s doing: pretending to be someone he isn’t. He was raised deep in the south, where no one spoke ‘proper’ Mauan unless they were talking to someone from the city or a foreigner — and sometimes not even then. His mother didn’t request any extravagant education for him, didn’t make sure he learned about propriety or how to walk like he is someone of worth. He did all of that himself. Alone, he trained himself to speak clearly — as a prince should — until he stopped slurring his words and could pretend he wasn’t like the rest of the rowdy kids he grew up with. He built up a personality he could put on to stand taller, more proud, than the people who put him down.

Because he is a prince but he’s not a prince. He has never needed to act like a prince and he probably never will feel that responsibility. His hope and trust in his mother shaped his entire lifestyle. It made him fake.

A caricature.

“Hyungwon?”

Hyungwon pulls himself out of his head again. He glances at Minhyuk who looks at him in concern.

“I was kidding, you know that, right?

Hyungwon shakes his head. “No,” he mumbles, the sound getting caught in his throat. “No, you’re right,” he says. “I _have_ been pretending to be a city boy, haven’t I?”

And now it’s time to stop. He has to cut off everything, physical, conscious and subconscious, that connects him back to his mother, to the House of Petals.

Minhyuk pushes himself up to stand, alarm and worry clear on his face. “Hyungwon, I didn’t mean to—“ He cuts himself off abruptly, obviously unsure what button he pushed.

“Relax.” Smiling softly, Hyungwon reaches for the blond boy’s hands. “Ya didn’t say anything wrong,” he says, switching to his native dialect. “If anything, ya helped me realize something about myself.”

His reassurances don’t have the desired effect as relief refuses to soften Minhyuk’s gaze. So Hyungwon slips one of his hands away to cup Minhyuk’s jaw, brushes his thumb over those strong cheekbones that he adores, and smiles a little bit wider and more genuine.

“You’ve never done anything to hurt me, Minhyuk, and I don’t think ya will ever be able to,” he says gently, continuing to stroke Minhyuk’s skin absentmindedly. “My entire life I’ve struggled with who I am and ya made me realize I’ve been doing myself a disservice this entire time. Please don’t beat yourself up about it.”

He brings a different light to Minhyuk eyes then. One that is filled with wonder and understanding and admiration. Hyungwon’s lips part on a soft exhale when Minhyuk covers the hand on his cheek with his own.

“Still, I’m sorry,” Minhyuk mutters, equally as quiet. “I really ruined the mood, didn’t I?”

“Depends on which mood you’re talking about.” Hyungwon says before he has the chance to realize it’s a rather forward thing to say.

Minhyuk blinks, not understanding what he means, and Hyungwon uses that moment to slide his hand from beneath the older man’s and take a step back. Unhooking their clasped hands as well, Hyungwon steps around Minhyuk to walk out of the kitchen.

“It’s late,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at Minhyuk who looks confused about something. “Is it okay if ya still haven’t gone back to the House?”

Minhyuk shakes his head and follows after him. “They can get as mad at me about being out as they want. Doesn’t matter anymore.” He chuckles. “It never mattered.”

Hyungwon comes to a stop beside the couch, resting a hand along the back. “Then you’ll stay with me?”

Minhyuk falls onto the couch and folds his arms next to Hyungwon’s hand. He grins, boyish and handsome. “If you’ll have me.”

 

_Hyungwon,_

_There is not a moment in time that passes where I do not wish things were different. It has been two years now since I left you in the care of the country folk. I was worried at first and wondered if I should have entrusted you to a proper facility in the city, but I know now that my intuition was correct. I do hope they are treating you well, for I fear it may take a little longer than I thought to bring you home. I was not expecting to have my entire life turned upside down but here I am, desperately trying to upright it again._

_I’m sending a picture of you and your brother. It breaks my heart to listen to his questions of where you are and to answer that you have gone to a better place. It is not a lie, but I know he will grow to believe the same as the others. Hopefully things will be settled before that can happen._

_You two were the cutest together. Hyunwoo is but two years senior but he was so protective over you. He'd get so upset if you were crying and once yelled and threw small fists at the King for scaring you._

_Never forget that you are loved. By me. By your brother. By Ga-in._

_I miss you dearly._

_H.C._

 

Hyungwon snatches a clean glass from the rack and fills it to the brim with iced hibiscus tea before wandering through the restaurant in search of a free table. Patronage is low in the mid-afternoon hours - a good time to take his break before the dinner rush.

There are a few empty tables but, struck with a sudden desire for quiet and air, Hyungwon slips past the exit of the family restaurant and steps out onto the front sidewalk. The concrete is warm beneath his feet, heated by the sun beaming through thin, white clouds.

Walking a short distance along the sidewalk, just enough to not be in the way of any arriving customers, Hyungwon drops down on the curb and leans back on the palm of his free hand.

Soon autumn will drift in like an old friend and hopefully bring with it the sense of self that he’s been missing this summer. Kihyun has been asking about him moving in permanently — “Ya already here all the time so what’s the difference,” he asked with a snort as he kicked at Hyungwon’s ankles, silently scolding about the flower boy’s lack of shoes again — but to Hyungwon it’s not the same. The Yoos have done so much for him since he was a teen wishing of a family he was starting to doubt he would ever have. Kihyun and his mother gave him a support system, a home, and he’ll always be thankful for them, but he wants to stand on his own feet now. He doesn’t think he can do that with a real space for himself. With his cottage, he still has a place of his own to return to, even if he doesn’t. But that is only because he can’t stand the way the forest makes him feel. In the absence of that suffocating feeling, Hyungwon wouldn’t feel so tempted to escape to the Yoos so often.

Taking a sip of his tea, Hyungwon ponders where we would go. Will he rather try life in the city where the streets are lively but the people uninviting or stay in the countryside where there’s warmth and familiarity in every smile but opportunity is just a breath out of reach? Does he want to pursue higher education or find work at a cute, little shop around here?

He’s lived his life so plainly, without an aim except one day finding himself brought back to the House. It is strange to take that control back.

The fresh air does great to clear his mind, as does the muted sounds of the neighborhood, the restaurant silent behind closed doors. He sits there, lazily pressing his toes into the dirt until the red in his glass is but a small puddle. His mind drifts, flitting from thought to thought, and he doesn’t notice he’s been approached until there are feet stepping off the curb beside him.

He turns his head, eyes rounded with surprise at the sight of blond. Minhyuk copies his form, leaning back on both of his hands and looking out across the street. There’s a chunky, black backpack sitting on the edge of the curb on his other side.

“A while ago we talked about running away.” When Minhyuk turns his head there’s glee and wonder and defiance and sadness in his gaze. “Would you run away with me?”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](http://jungwoobie.tumblr.com)/[twitter](https://twitter.com/monstazet) | [writing blog](http://at-tostitos.tumblr.com)


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